Heaven's Gate
by Blue Dragon X
Summary: Fifteen years after the war over the Erusea mainland, a man searches for the legendary Mobius 1 as rebellions arise, Osea faces of against the ISAF, and he is reminded of once forgotten aces of the past.
1. The Forgotten Ace

Heaven's Gate

The Forgotten Ace

**By Blue Dragon **

_Amidst the blue skies, a link from past to future. The sheltering wings of the protector . . . . _

September 19, 2019/San Salvacion/Suburbs/2042hrs

He couldn't quite remember when those words came to him, but it was during a time that a 'protector' was unnecessary.

"Are you still working on that letter?" Her soft and quiet voice gently broke the silence as she looked over his shoulder, watching him write his letter. He seemed oblivious to her words.

". . . Yes, yes, I'm still writing it. Anyone that could fly like that at least deserves a thank-you."

An exasperated sigh escaped her lips, and she continued across the well-furnished living room and towards the door.

"It's been almost fifteen years since that incident. Are you sure that he's still at that base?"

He looked up at his wife, and smiled a tired smile. Their eyes locked, and she brushed a strand of her rusty-brown hair out of her eyes. He could see his own gaze reflected in her lighter and expectant eyes, and feel the flicker of a temporary mutual understanding. When with her, he still felt that he was at a point where words were required, if not to confirm the feelings they felt, then simply to hear her speak to him.

The dim light from the moon was at an angle so that it was beamed in through the windows, giving everything a natural dreamy aura. Normally, as a child, the sky had seemed as intimidating to him as the ocean, and sometimes, even more intimidating. He had thought that the feeling of insignificance would melt away as he grew physically and emotionally, but as if growing alongside a brother, the sky seemed just as huge. While everything around him was minimized, that same sky seemed as intimidating as ever, if not more. But now, it was gentle.

"I can feel it, Faye, I can feel it. And I can't imagine anyone who hit the rank of 20-time ace even _thinking _about retiring until he was old and gray."

She sighed again, this one more playful. A cool breeze drifted in through the large and open windows, blowing her hair back out of place. "Alright then, I understand. As long as you don't stay up too long, you have to be at work early tomorrow. I'm going down to the bar for a few minutes, Daddy said he found something in the basement that he thought I should see. We always find more and more supplies from the war deeper and deeper into that cellar . . . . Jack? _Jack?_"

He shook his head as if startled from a trance.

"Sure, be careful at this time of night." He stood up from his desk, laying his paper down on the smooth mahogany, and glancing out at the clear night sky.

Staring at it took him back to the countless days years ago when he was waiting for Yellow Thirteen's plane to swoop the skies again. The aircraft would always cut through the air like an arrow, turn and maneuver crisply and sometimes without a sound, and then return to its base faster than it had arrived. After he had been shot down, he would still feel on the edge every time he stared at that sky, subconsciously hoping that the ace pilot would return.

Somehow, the fact that he could never explain his feelings to the pilot that had shot down the aircraft directly onto his home didn't bother him. Somehow, he felt at peace, as if Yellow 13 had already known. It was as if taking him in as one of his own was a kind of apology to the boy he had orphaned with his careless dog fighting.

"And pick yourself something up while you're there, okay?" He walked across the carpet and laid his writing tools on a smaller desk beside a couch, reaching into the pocket of his jeans as he approached her and clasped her hand into his, still feeling the familiar electricity as he handed her a twenty dollar note.

"You're eating for two now . . . . "He tapped her lower abdomen, and she smiled while looking through him.

Jack had noticed such actions from her had been common now; she would stare through him instead of directly at him.

"I will." She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek before she grabbed her keys from the wall, and began opening the door. "I love you."

A flurry of night air rushed in as she opened the door fully, and then closed it behind her, leaving her husband there to wonder.

_Where did _that _come from?_ He thought. It wasn't often that she would say something like that before quick trips, she had almost seemed desperate for that one moment. After knowing her for such a long time, he had learned to read her emotions.

Jack listened to the familiar sound of the engine start, and then the rolling of the tires against the smooth pavement from his driveway and towards the road. The sound of tires screeching was heard, and Jack laughed to himself.

_Always in a hurry_.

He stared back at the letter he was writing, and sleep began its ever-persistent pull on the corners of his eyes. After taking a few steps back to his couch, he sat down in it suddenly.

"The pilot that shot him down . . . . "He finished his thoughts as he closed his eyes swiftly, and drifted into an unusually content sleep.

September 19, 2004/North Point/Air Base/1056hrs

"He's a freak, that's all." The pilot slammed his helmet down on the table and sat down in front of it, sliding his tray in front of him. They had all gotten used to speaking loud in that base, for military drills, and for the need to be heard over the perpetual chatter of the cafeteria.

The pilot began digging into his slightly-burned macaroni and cheese as he listened to his other friends exchange theories on the new pilot.

Large groups of them swiveled in and out of the lunch lines and around the room, turning the room (that had been vacant a mere three minutes ago) into a sea of green uniforms. About a dozen of those pilots sat at a table in the corner, discussing the newcomer, and of course, the first mission.

"Well he's one of us, get over it." Another pilot stuffed a bagel into his mouth, almost choking on its dryness. "Damn cooks . . . . "

A female pilot poked a cube of hairy red gelatin cautiously with the end of a fork.

"He never talks. We've never seen him eat or sleep, he works out in the gym eight hours, the flight simulator for five hours, and the only thing we're sure he does is take a leak every now and then." She moved on to the salad, whose leaves didn't look very inviting.

The first pilot continued to choke down a forkful of macaroni. "At least we know that someone sucks as bad as we do. That _is _why they're putting us all on the Mobius squadron, right?"

By chance or perhaps by fate, there was a quick silence over the entire cafeteria save a few loudmouthed officers. Even the squeaking lights at the top of the ceiling seemed to stop bouncing back and forth. A good hundred pairs of eyes made their way to the end of the room, where people came in and entered.

At the double doors stood a man that didn't appear to be any different from the rest of the pilots at the base.

Oblivious to the dozens of onlookers, he wiped the remnants of leaves out of his blond hair and took the time to pull the pine needles from his sunglasses, before readjusting them. Without a word, he walked across the cafeteria.

His steps echoed across the room like a giant's, and his path was completely straight, as if calculated.

Without a second thought, he stopped in front of one of the tables bordering the worn-down wall, and snatched an apple out of the basket.

Gasps echoed around the room as he took a huge bite of the fruit, and chewed it slowly and loudly. This continued for a good five minutes, the entire cafeteria watching him through every bite.

He took his time, and licked the droplets of apple juice from the side of his cheek before releasing a contented sigh, and tossing the core into the trashcan without giving it a second glance. The words he then spoke embedded themselves into the souls of every pilot around him, and made one of the most notable impressions upon the entire ISAF.

"Good apple." With that, followed by a soft burp, he made his way back to the double doors. With disregard to even a look back, the new recruit closed the doors behind him.

After about three seconds of silence, the room came alive again, as if a principal had just left a classroom of high school kids alone.

An electrical crackling rung over the entire crowd from a high and rusty speaker, and a commanding voice spoke.

"All Mobius pilots, report to the airfield within five minutes, I repeat, all Mobius pilots report to the airfield within five minutes."

After the announcement, the entire Mobius squadron began wolfing down bits of food and gagging down the rest of the contents of their plates. Of course, they had quite a bit of trouble, and on multiple occasions had to wash it down with some of the less-than fresh milk.

"Damn . . . you'd think that with a steady flow of income from the people's taxes they could at least provide us with some decent nourishment . . . !" A lagging pilot noted as he hurried after his allies.

After navigating the man-made labyrinth and exiting from the south entrance, the Mobius squadron had assembled in standard In-Line formation, lining the side of a runway.

The flight commander, after a routine inspection, stepped towards the center. The sky was as bright and clear as any summer day's sky, and at the time the clouds were minimal. Every once in a while, a huge one would cast a shadow on the airfield and hang there for a few minutes before lifting again, much like the attitudes of the nervous pilots. They hadn't anticipated the heat, so they found themselves regretting that they had kept their coats on.

Every once in a while, a cool wind would blow through and lift the flag prestigiously, before dying down as quickly as it had arrived.

There was nothing but flat ground and road in nearly every direction, so the same wind had quite a distance to travel undisturbed before bouncing off of the flight.

"Flight! Atten-HUT!" The commander had much charisma, and didn't hesitate to exude it as he called the line into standard position.

He took a quick routine glance at the ISAF flag.

"Present ARMS!" He commanded, after which he performed and about-face, beginning to recite the Erusean Pledge of Allegiance. After they finished, the flight commander continued.

"Order ARMS!"

The flight dropped their arms, just as the loud sound of double doors smashing was heard in the distance.

". . . . . " Even the pilots at attention couldn't help but sneak a glance to the area behind them, where a lone pilot was trudging across the grass, running his hand through his hair, and nervously adjusting his sunglasses.

"Private 666?" The commander mumbled angrily as the pilot fell in to the commander's left. "You were supposed to be out here over three minutes ago. Those minutes can mean the difference between life and death in the battlefield; you'd do well to remember that."

The lone pilot gave a quick nod.

"At ease, gentlemen."

The pilots relaxed, and the commander began to pace around while giving quick instructions.

"Your survival training, your flight simulators, the endless testing, it all comes down to this. When you report in to your stations, AWACS commander will give you secondary briefing. It's his birthday, so don't screw up for his sake. Today marks yet another anniversary of the _tentatively _named Ulysses 1994XF04 Planet Fall, the event that led up to the situation we face currently. It is expected that today, there will be an attack from the nearby Rigley Air Base to finish us off. Our radar's been down . . . . so we've been penetrated by half-a-dozen bombers. We're at the end of our rope here, you pilots are our last hope. You are to be at your stations within the next three minutes. DisMISSED!"

The information given about the time factor slowly sunk into the heads of the pilots, after which they began scrambling back to the entrance, hoping to find the stations in time. The lone pilot, however, simply fell in behind the stumbling crowd, taking his time to head back to his station.

September 19, 2019/Comona Skies/1742hrs

The pilot sat back in his seat, doing his best to adjust his mask.

Thirty thousand feet, despite the fact that it was over five miles high, wasn't a particularly exciting altitude.

Thin clouds would roll by and off of his plane, seeming to disappear as he came closer. The controls and radar would flicker, and the autopilot was always steady. Always. And that was what drove this pilot insane.

After the war, he had spent the last fifteen years doing nothing but routine flight practice and patrol for seven hours a day, six days a week.

AWACS would buzz in with his annoying voice, ask of a report, and the he would respond '_Nothing out of the ordinary_', every single time.

"Mobius 1, report."

"This is Mobius 1. Nothing out of the ordin . . . . "He scanned the skies, just to make sure, it wasn't really necessary though. F.E.A.F. hadn't even considered any type of rebellion in the years following the war over the mainland, why would they start now?

All he saw was the endless blue, a few thin cirrus clouds, but this time, something different. It was only a small dot pasted on the blue sky, but his eyes had trained him.

"Mobius 1, I did not copy. Could you repeat the message?"

"AWACS, requesting engagement of HUD. I might have seen something."

"Granted, HUD engagement should now be functioning. Are you picking anything up, Mobius 1?"

The pilot scanned the skies again, once again seeing a flash, and that same dot on the blue sky.

"Hold on for a second, I'm still checking . . . . " For the first time in weeks, he disengaged autopilot to begin a sidewind. The ailerons seemed to squeak from lack of use as the plane rolled to the left, and the stabilizers pulled up the nose, tilting him in a more direct position to the mostly empty skies over Comona. There was a pause, and then he noted something that he thought he would never see.

"AWACS, I'm seeing a yellow flash. I repeat, there is a yellow flash, confirmed visually. Pulling in for close—"

The sudden sound of an incredibly loud thruster engaged fully flew past him as another yellow SU-37 zoomed from behind him.

"AWACS, this is Mobius 1, we have unauthorized craft flying in aircraft airspace."

"Warn them!"

The pilot smiled to himself. He felt alive for the first time in years. But alas, he probably wouldn't get the chance to fight. It wasn't lost yet, however, there hadn't been any response, and they were still yellow aircraft. Even though the probability of a yellow squadron still existing was at absolute zero . . . . or perhaps a bit more.

"Identify yourself." He spoke calmly into the radio after it had established a connection.

". . . . "He received no response.

The pilot pulled his plane down a bit, so that the angle of attack was a bit less, keeping him parallel with the ground. He continued to fly at about twice the normal stalling speed.

"This is ISAF, you do not have authorization to be flying in these skies, please land immediately."

"Wasn't it you ISAF who said the skies belonged to everyone?" Was the response Mobius 1 received. After which, he heard the familiar hissing of a missile barreling straight for him at hundreds of miles per hour. The projectile zoomed in straight towards the unsuspecting pilot.

"Mobius 1 . . . . "AWACS began.

The pilot grabbed his stick and pulled back, immediately engaging the thrusters. The afterburners kicked in as the plane jerked up and forwards against the g's and into the endless sky as the missile slid under him and gradually lost course.

"You have a missile alert!"

"AWACS, this is Mobius 1, and seeing as I was almost blown to pieces, I think it is safe to say that _I have established that_. Permission to engage."

"Granted. Are you going in alone?"

"Yeah, why the hell not?"

With a smile under his mask, he turned the plane. He hadn't had a particularly great armament, a couple of missiles and two XMAA's. The F-15 wasn't really in perfect shape, either. However, these were the odds that he had longed for.

"What's that . . . . Yellow 22 reporting to base. Yellow 4 and I are currently engaging a lone bandit."

The pilot smiled further as he listened to the intercepted communication and continued to steady his flight.

"Could it be . . . . the legendary ISAF pilot?" Enemy AWACS radioed back.

_Yellow 4 . . . . I thought I shot down Yellow 4 . . . what's going on?_ The pilot released the lock on his missiles as he began a mile-away game of chicken with the aircraft. He felt the returning rush as his plane shook from the amazing amount of force.

_I can fly like this plane was meant to fly . . . ._

The two continued to barrel at each other. The pilot felt the familiar shake of his plane as the frame attempted to stabilize itself. The speedometer began to vibrate rapidly as he approached the sound barrier. The sea below him zoomed by as if it were an endless wave, barreling backwards at an unnatural speed.

His movement was a work of art. His maneuvers absolute. His fighting admired as much by his enemies as by his allies. After years of dry flying, he was flinging himself back into combat miles in the sky. It was there that he felt most alive, and it was there that he hoped to die. He was the legendary pilot of the Independent State's Allied Forces.

He was Mobius 1.

September 19, 2019/San Salvacion/Olde Towne/2107hrs

Jack slid his hands slightly down the steering wheel. The windows of his car were rolled down to let the night air rush in and cool him down. The vehicle rolled smoothly along the country road, and towards the Olde Towne portion of the city. The sky wasn't particularly starry, it seemed to be less full than usual, even.

It was almost as if it were making room for something else in the sky.

After waking up from his nap, he found that his wife still hadn't returned. The bar wasn't all that far away, and even fifteen minutes seemed like an oddly long time to be gone for just a routine inspection.

When they were just kids, celebrating after the war, they had begun to fully understand each other emotionally. The entire town had partied all day, and all night, and then slept, ate, and drank. The air of celebration for the ISAF victory that followed never really left, the town seemed in a constant state of happiness.

However, something was different about that day. Something . . . . lifted from that entire part of the city, lifted from the people and made room for another feeling, and from the way the sky looked, it was a feeling that was less than pleasant.

"She understands . . . . "He said absently to himself. He had said many things absently to himself that day, constantly thinking about Faye. The fact that she was beautiful beyond words was simply a bonus, what honestly attracted him to her unnaturally wasn't just the manifestation of his childhood crush, but her soul.

As corny as even _he _thought it sounded, it was her soul. It was her soul that understood him to the point that she could almost read his mind, to the point that only she knew his true feelings about Yellow 13 and the ace that finally shot him down.

She was one of the only people that could even keep the memory alive of the hero, who was probably then only a forgotten ace.

Gradually, the secluded country road gave way to a more urbanized appearance, and the view of the bar, the bar where so much had happened came into view, the fittingly named _Sky Kid_.

A feeling of dread pierced his heart as he stopped the car over the rocky pavement. He left the engine running, and exited the vehicle. His eyes were highlighted by the moon's light for a second, and a flash of movement zipped through the sky. Not the type of movement that was clearly noticeable, but an almost abstract type where one would contemplate whether or not it had actually been there.

Ignoring the feeling, Jack stepped out onto the thousands of tiny rocks that served as a makeshift pavement, and looked towards the well-worn bar.

The edges of the sign had a sort of casual perpendicularity, in a way that made it seem well crafted, but still modest.

As he moved across the portion of the pavement that had become particularly bright, he looked up to see that the lighting outside was fully engaged, a strange thing for the pub at that hour. He stopped in front of the door, barely able to make out the shadows through the glass from around the corner, and grasped the cold doorknob. When he removed his hand after turning and pulling, he grimaced.

The handle was bloody.

With surprise, he almost gasped out as he stared at the palm of his hand, stained red. Worse yet, the blood had been fresh and still wet.

At this point, he had become even more worried.. With haste, he pulled the door and closed it behind him just as quickly with a quiet bang, and wove his way around the many tables. The chairs were all stacked on top of the tables in an organized manner, nothing about the supposedly closed building seemed out of place.

The low and dark ceiling seemed to press into him further than usual as he felt his heartbeat increase, slowly moving to the shadowed area around the corner. He was being terribly reminded of when he accidentally stumbled upon the guerilla operation as a child, the memory of his temporary capture was still clear in his mind, even after those many years.

After a few more steps, he immediately turned the corner, greeted by the sight of his wife. Then, almost instantly, he noticed her bloody shoulder.

His first reaction was panic, his heart quickened and his breath deepened, before he realized that her eyes were opened, she was bandaged, and she appeared to be looking away from him, at someone else.

Next to her was her father, a man that had aged well. A morose expression was carved into his face as he stared away at an angle similar to that of his daughter.

"Who's there?" A gruff voice called out.

Jack had to keep himself from calling out as Faye jerked her head to see him standing there. He heard footsteps plodding towards his location, the only lighting was dim enough so that he could see his possible enemies' shadow, but his own was invisible.

For that moment, he was frozen, paralyzed with fear. It was only the pleading emotion that was expressed to him in the eyes of his wife that he was able to move.

Just as the man jerked his head around the corner, Jack had swiftly swooped into a crevice that shared the same wall with the room he had previously peeked into. Cautiously, Jack peered through a crack as he flattened himself into the dark corner.

It was a man, very tall, and despite his intimidating build, appeared very quiet. His gray eyes turned and scanned the walls, staring directly at Jack. His eyes narrowed the second they brushed over his position. It was then that he noticed the USP he held in his hand, and he was apparently ready to fire it at any time.

He continued to stare straight at Jack, who had the overwhelming urge to run. Something in him told him not to.

To his surprise, the man swept the dark with his eyes again, and then ran a hand through his blonde and messy hair, adjusting his coat and fingering the sunglasses attached to his shirt as he retreated back into the room.

The dark had saved him.

Jack slowly let out his breath, and then heard the sounds of slightly muffled orders, and a door opening. A few seconds later, he dared to creep out, and peeked around the corner.

By fate, Faye was glancing at him, with a calming look.

_Don't worry_, she mouthed.

Before the door was closed, and before Jack slammed a dent into the fragile, wooden wall of the dark corridor, he was able to catch the number on the back of the man's coat.

It was a large number '13', emblazoned in yellow.


	2. The Flames of Hatred

The Flames of Hatred

**By Blue Dragon**

_The flames of hatred scorch the sky, lighting Gaia's funeral pyre . . . _

September 19, 2019/Comona Skies/1757hrs

There was silence, and it hung over the clear blue skies like a veil. Before long, without warning, the three flashes flew by, two with yellow streaks. The veil of silence began to float off as they began darting throughout the sky and maneuvering even faster, darting around like a panicked flock of birds, drawing contrails through the sky in a crazy waltz.

Finally, after the tumble of maneuvers, a loud and sudden boom echoed around the base, shaking anyone unfortunate enough to be residing below, and instantly killing any creature smaller than a football within the area. The sonic boom produced by Mobius 1 was very distinct, it wasn't like an explosion whose burst echoed out for all to hear seconds after the event itself, it was more like a giant's voice cut off suddenly.

"AWACS, this is Mobius 1, headed west. Two bogeys, one at my eight and one at my six. Can I get stats on base deployment?"

"Mobius 1, we have discovered a lapse in our communications and cannot continue to provide any close support. Are you going to return?"

"This is our base. I'm fighting."

". . . . Good luck Mobius 1"

The ace pilot pulled back on his wheel as hard as he could, feeling his added weight press him back into his seat, the invisible g's increasing rapidly as he pulled further towards the sky.

"Die, you arrogant fascist!" The yellow aircraft began to empty its vulcan cannons, and a good deal of bullets sprayed past the empennage of the speeding aircraft.

Mobius 1 winced as his radar flashed, and almost gasped into his radio as the burning tracers of the 330 caliber bullets flew by him. With an instant reflex, he rolled to the left and turned away from the path, just as another spray of bullets filled the skies, sending a cascade of empty shells spiraling down towards the ocean.

"Let's see how you like this . . . . "Yellow 22 matched Mobius 1's movements and began to follow him closely and swiftly, adjusting his plane ever so delicately as the thrusters began to blow backwards at maximum capacity.

Just before he could get a lock, Mobius 1 engaged air brakes, fast enough so that the flaps could come up and get in a few decisive shakes from the air resistance, and then killed the fuel flow temporarily. The result was that he dropped straight down.

"Dammit! Where the hell did he learn that!? Four, are you following?" Yellow 22 gripped his half-wheel control and tilted the nose down, feeling his heart leap as the sea rushed up at him.

"I'm following, I have a lock on him . . . . now. Yellow 4, Fox One" The female voice answered him.

Mobius 1 disappeared into the clouds, the lone missile pursuing him. The two aircraft circled slightly around the vanishing point, hearing a boom in the distance.

"Did you get him, Four!?"

". . . Negative, He's still on radar."

"How the . . . "

Just as the two pilots were pondering, a blaze flew out of the sky, all signs of missile pursuit gone. In excellent precision, Mobius 1 fired his vulcan cannons at full capacity, using the blazing hot tracers as guides, and cracked a smile as the ammunition filled the engine intake of Yellow 22's SU-37, causing a small explosion. The thrust from the plane began to kick out, the aircraft headed into a stall, and it slowly began to drop out of the sky.

"Yellow 22, I'm bailing out!" The gruff voice yelled over the radio. Like a bullet from the barrel, the pilot's seat flew out of the top of the plane and into the skies. After a few seconds of a freefall, the parachute reluctantly activated, saving the human from the unfriendly environment.

Mobius 1 began to engage his XMAA as he confirmed the kill.

"AWACS, scratch a bandit. I repeat, Splash One."

"Great job, Mobius 1!"

"I am currently engaging the remaining target."

Yellow 4 rolled her plane through the air continuously, all the time flying endlessly forward.

Mobius 1 adjusted his plane's nose so that he had a clear view of his remaining opponent. She didn't appear to be retreating, but all the time she was flying away from him.

"Yellow . . . . Yellow 4?"

"You couldn't possibly understand . . . !" Was the sudden and shortened response that the ace pilot received.

Although he attempted at first to pursue her, he realized it was futile. She had already had a huge head start in speed, and had a destination.

"This is Mobius 1, the enemy is retreating."

"Excellent work. Bandits are down or are no factor. RTB, Mobius 1."

". . . . "

"Is something the matter? Our intelligence operatives are looking into this as we speak." The decisive voice of the AWACS commander reassured Mobius 1 over the radio.

"I felt something back there, commander. Something I never thought I'd feel before, something dangerous."

There was a slight pause as the commander gathered his thoughts.

"Do you need a vacation? We could ground you for a little while."

He had to hold back a laugh as he spun his plane around and towards the base, letting autopilot take over and the serenity of the skies resume their authority over his mind.

"No. Next time just give me a full arsenal and bigger guns."

September 19, 2019/San Salvacion/Olde Towne/2108hrs

It wasn't the type of reaction he thought he would have if the unspeakable had ever happened. If anything had ever happened to Faye, he expected to fall into an emotional void, and to slowly drive himself insane, perhaps even collapsing dead where he stood.

The echoes of his footsteps on the floor told him otherwise.

"No! _No!_" He couldn't hear the sound of the vehicle, it had long since faded off, even thought it had seemed to be moving slowly. He finished his mad dash for the door that his wife had been moved through just a few seconds earlier, just as a few flashes lit up the dark roads.

The sudden and successive sounds of gunfire filled the air, and Jack instinctively dove back into the building.

The sound of footsteps and breaking glass were heard, and the loud voice of a captain rang through the air.

_How could I just let her go like that!? She must have been twenty feet away from me! How could I . . . . _Jack continued to go over the possibilities in his head, ignoring the periods of silence interrupted by short bursts of gunfire.

A few seconds after the beginning of his thoughts, footsteps pattered across the floor of Sky Kid, and a soldier that had inadvertently snuck up on the fallen man began to close the door. Four more men stormed in.

"Hey, get up man." It was that same captain's voice.

Sure of his own defeat, Jack slowly stood up, no tears on his face, because if anything happened to her, he felt that it would be his own funeral. His own soul had merged with her own, much like 13's had with 4. Her death could quite possibly be his, and one does not cry at their own funeral.

With his hands up, Jack turned his head to look at the captain He was an average-sized man with deep gray eyes, covered from head to toe in bullet-proof armor and military attire. He was holding an M-16 and had artillery strapped around him. Relief washed over him as he noticed the ISAF patch on the captain's shoulder, but not much relief.

"You can put your hands down, we're here to help."

"Help me find . . . Faye?" In awe, Jack's hands were still raised.

". . . . You can put your hands down. And no, we're here to defend this town."

"Defend this town . . . . ?"

The captain's soldiers filed up behind him with militaristic order.

"Where have you _been_? We're under siege of the Eruseans as we speak."

"E-Eruseans? Where the hell did the F.E.A.F. come from, I thought that organization fell—"

"Well so did we. We don't have time for the details. We have two snipers with PSG1's and three Erusean gunmen with AK-47's on us, and if we don't hurry we're going to get pinned down. Do you know how to fire a gun?"

Jack paused, and as if suddenly absorbing the information, answered.

"I'm an engineer at the ISAF base near here. I can fire handguns, but not assault rifles."

The captain turned away from Jack, and for a second, he felt as if he was being deserted. After a few items changed hands, the captain turned around and handed him a USP and a SOCOM.

"Two handguns, use them well. Here're some clips."

He handed Jack a box of ammunition that could be strapped to the back.

"Thanks, but what—"

"Don't ask what you're using it for! To shoot people! Do you have family!?"

His answer was delayed.

"A wife, she's expecting a child . . . "

The captain whipped his head around. "That was originally a rhetorical question, but now that you mention it . . . . " He turned to his men. "You guys look out for him, alright? _We've _all got kids. But we don't need any more babies being born without fathers. You hear?"

"Sir YES SIR." Was the response received from four of the soldiers in unison.

"Good. Now move OUT!"

With surprising efficiency, the soldiers ran out of the door and scanned the sides of the area in perfect military order. Two scanned the left, and the other two the right.

"W-where are we headed?" Jack asked as he struggled to keep up with the captain.

"We're regrouping to the airport."

An idea flashed through his head.

_I'll get my hands on a plane, somehow. I'll search the town for her from above. It'll be five times faster._

His thoughts were interrupted by the chatter of a couple of soldiers as they began moving down the dark alley, the opposite direction of where the truck had headed.

"Did you hear about Yellow 13 and 4?"

The sound suddenly jerked electricity through his head again.

"Yeah . . . . "Another soldier continued. "I thought that they were shot down by _him_"

"M-Mobius 1!?" Jack interrupted.

The third soldier talked to him while following the captain, without even turning his head.

"Yeah. He still flies around at the Comona Base."

For a second, he completely forgot about seeing the Yellow 13 on the man's shirt. He went through his thoughts and decided that it couldn't have been them. But Mobius 1, on the other hand, was at Comona base, which wasn't that far away by plane.

He was torn between the search for his wife and the pursuit of Mobius 1, a decision that began to eat away at him immediately.

"Hey, kid, are you okay? You're sweating and we haven't even started fighting yet. Keep those guns ready."

The captains words snapped Jack's thoughts back in.

"Yeah, sure . . . . I will."

_I can't think about that now. She's important to me . . . But Mobius 1 saved our town, won the war . . . she's my whole world, and I've never met _him. _But she said . . . . 'Don't worry' . . . . _

The thinking was making him lose focus yet again, and he had to adamantly decide that he could contemplate how he would spend his time once he got to the base. For the time being, he was focused on staying alive.

September 19, 2004/North Point/Air Base/1405hrs

Mobius 1 sat back in his plane, shaky of course from the knowledge of being in there the first time for a combat mission. He hadn't even been trained in arms. He had wingmen, of course, but they had put him in the center.

_There is no 'sacrifice line' in the air. . . . _

He shakily hit what he was sure was the button for briefing, and calmed down as the commanders voice began uniformly reciting the orders.

"Here is the current sitrep and your orders for deplyment, effective immediately. Our radar has been down, allowing six Bear (TU-95) bombers to penetrate our airspace. It is expected that these bombers will strike Allenfort, and then move on to targets at North Point. Our air defenses are extremely weak at this time, hence, our GHQ is a 'Sitting Duck'. You are our last option for resistance. Our future is in your hands."

The orders only served to shake the pilot up even more. That, and the fact that he was cruising through the cloudy skies in an F-4E Phantom, nicknamed by many as a flying bathtub. How in the world was he supposed to stand up to MiG escorts and Bear Bombers in a plane like the Phantom?

On the nose, he could see the huge Anderson Crater apparently formed by the Ulysses 1994XF04 asteroids, it was bigger than the sparsely poplulated Allen City next to it. From the altitude (which was ominously at 6666), he could see the white buildings and hosues bordering the coasts of the small island, and up ahead, the base.

"AWACS here, call sign SkyEye, do you read? You are now under my command."

It was the voice of AWACS on the radio. Mobius 1 chose not to respond.

"Your call sign is Mobius 1. You will be referred to by this at all times. Six Bear Bombers detected at vector 360. Continue north to intercept."

He rolled his eyes.

_I know my damn orders, stop making it sound so complicated!_

"Today's my birthday, a victory sure would be nice."

The TU-95's came into view. Six of them, huge bodied, and huge winged, propellers spinning at full speed. There were a couple of MiG escorts, blaring their jets around the skies as if they owned them. They were still of little consequence while staring at the Bears. They crept over the skies like predators.

"Mobius 1, engage."

The second he heard those words, he felt a feeling of energy, all of his training boiling down.

_It's now or never . . . . . _

He engaged his thrusters fully, and tilted the plane. With precision, he targeted the closest Tupolev, the TU-95 Bear.

Slowly and shakily, with the knowledge that he could be taking a man's life, he began to shoot. It was unexpected, the high caliber bullets from the cannon flew out with a surprisingly quiet sound, suppressed by his thrusters.

The fiery tracers lit a path and began pelting a distant TU-95, with a satisfying shredding sound. There was no response from the escorts.

"Target is within gun range!" AWACS noted excitedly.

"Let the escorts handle them . . . . "

_What the . . . . oh. Enemy communication._

Mobius 1 quickly pulled up and zoomed past the TU-95, and then turned back in to shoot it more.

_This is pretty easy_.

"Mobius 1! Mobius 1! You've got one heading for your tail! Watch out!"

As if a fierce animal acted inside him, the pilot slammed his finger down on the button, and a missile shook out of its port and towards the target. It was a direct hit.

The TU-95 collapsed in an orange flame and began to plummet towards the ocean.

"Mobius 1 shot one down!" It was Rapier 8, informing the rest of the team.

"Nice going!" A wingman complimented him.

_Yeah, not bad . . . _He felt good about it. Surprisingly, there wasn't much fire on him, as the Eruseans hadn't expected resistance. The steady destruction went on. Until the escorts began to pursue him from behind.

"Mobius 1, you have two bandits on your tail!" AWACS warned him.

The panic didn't wash over him like he had expected. Instead, it was an amazing sense of calm. It was a security that he got only from combat, from the thrill of a fight.

"There's our welcoming party . . . . "Another enemy communication rang through.

That first confrontation was what gave the pilot his thirst for combat; it was the catalyst for his fusion with the sky, even if it was scorched by the flames of hatred.

Hatred was an extremely strong term, even for that time. But as long as humans and conflicts continued to exist, it would be inextricable. The death and destruction only came from the weapons that made the entire war possible.

"Mobius 1 shot down a _Fulcrum_ . . . . !" AWACS announced, enunciating the 'Fulcurm' sharply.

"What the . . . . ! That Phantom took out one of our escorts! I didn't even see it move!" A pilot from a TU-95 screamed out.

To the surprise of every pilot, the rookie in the F-4 had managed to take out the MiG in one deft maneuver. By his first mission, he was already an ace.

"SkyEye here. The sitting ducks have become the Bears! Get 'em all, Mobius 1!"

September 19, 2019/Comona Skies/1822hrs

After landing his plane and leaving the runway, he cast his traditional glance back to his plane. Of course, the ribbon insignia remained on the tail, positioned towards the vast expanse of windows. The entire airbase reminded him of an international airport. However, that was becoming exactly what it was to him, and precisely what he didn't want it to be.

Too much had gone on in the ISAF air bases for them to be trivialized. Too many people had died for their efforts to be forgotten . . .

"Jones!"

He almost didn't answer to the name. Only a young and foolish pilot would call him by his last name.

Slowly and a bit agitatedly, he turned to face the young private, who was hustling from the expanse of windows bordering the west side of the main portion of the base.

He had apparently completed basic fitness training at a sub-par level, as he was losing his breath, and beginning to drag his feet over the thin blue carpet. A very small portion of the pilots were present, and a small portion of them milled about inside the base, making the expanse look like a huge empty airport, a ghost of the war.

"You call me Mobius 1, got it?" He uttered tacitly.

_I'm almost thirty-five years old. I don't need to be called with no regard to rank by some private._ He thought to himself. He was private about most things.

"Sorry sir. I forgot . . . . "

The new pilot was as young as Jones had been when he had started flying for the ISAF fifteen years ago. Aviator sunglasses dangled at his collar, and a definitively more relaxed wave of blonde hair covered his head, falling in all directions. His youth seemed to vibrate throughout his body and radiate from his bright eyes.

"I just wanted to ask you J . . . Mobius 1, if I had any mail. You were at the box, weren't you?"

Mobius 1 sighed to himself and began walking, the private immediately bounding after him as he made his way to the front office.

"Look, son, what was your name again?" He asked as he began walking briskly down the stairs.

"Martin, sir. Aston Martin."

"Right right . . . . Listen—"

"How's your girlfriend, sir?"

Mobius 1 didn't even turn to face the private as he spoke to him.

"First of all, she isn't my girlfriend. Second of all, that's none of your damn business. Third of all, I don't know why you changed the subject like that."

"Sorry, sir . . . . "

The two reached the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner into a bright and open corridor, where no one was present. It was truly a ghostly base.

"Back on the subject, and off of my girlfr—I mean friend, this is what you must remember. No one really cared about us after peace. The liberated people were so busy gobbling up their glory that they forgot about who won the war and stopped Megalith. Us. The Air Force. That's why no one wants to even know about us, or cares about our exploits. If you're expecting fan mail, then you might as well forget it. You'll only get letters from your family. Our only justice will be found in the history books. And we're lucky to even get it there."

"Oh . . . "

The pilot felt a bit sorry letting down the private like that, someone so full of energy shouldn't be exposed to the cruel truths so early.

As they continued moving, a sound ripped through the base.

"Accident . . . . " Mobius 1 continued forwards to the office were he could report.

"Jones!" The private ran ahead of him towards the windows. "There must be a million of 'em! Check out all of those planes! Is this a drill!?"

A frown crossed his face as he trained his eyes on the dots in the sky.

"Crap-damnit!"

"It's a drill, right sir?"

". . . . Just wait for the announcement." Jones muttered to the private, waiting for the Safety Commander's voice to ring out over the intercommunication system. Sure enough, he began speaking.

"All ISAF personnel to the nearest airfield. Board the most well armed planes available. We are under attack. That is all."

". . . . See? If this was for real, he would have said, 'This is not a drill.'" Jones assured.

"And this is _not a drill_. Please take off immediately."

". . . . "

". . . . "

The two pilots stared at each other, and without another second of hesitation, spun on their heels and sprinted back the other direction as another explosion shook the building.


	3. Vector Impossible

Vector Impossible

**By Blue Dragon**

_A meeting conspired by fate . . . _

September 19, 2019/Comona Skies/1827hrs

"J-Jones!" The private lagged behind Mobius 1 as he stormed around the corner of the flight terminal and slid down the railing towards the hangar that he had just returned from.

"What!? And make it quick!" He only responded because he didn't feel like being hassled by the private in the heat of battle.

"Aren't we low on fuel!?"

"No, they just recently re—"

"Pilots, fuel reserves are low, I repeat, the fuel reserves are low. Particularly on the F-22s of Rapier 8, Rapier 19, Halo 7, Omega 11, Mobius 6, and Mobius 1" The command spoke out over the numerous intercoms.

"I was just going to fly that . . . kid, take the F-14. I'll be in my X-02." He commanded as calmly as he could as he cleared a second flight of stairs. A wall of heat hit the two pilots, followed by a deafening roar. Another missile lanced into the back wall of the hangar, and it began to crumble.

"Board your plane!" the ace pilot yelled to the private over the burning and jet noises. "Don't wait for clearance, take off immediately!"

The regularly silver floors were scorched black from the flames.

The inferno continued in magnitude, casting an eternal orange glow on the entire hangar. The only sound more prevalent that the burning beams was that of the almost rhythmic explosions.

The pilots flew up the ramps to their untouched planes, and began flight checks immediately.

"Careful with your afterburners, you'll—" His directions to the pilot were drowned out as the thrusters began to engage and the rotors began the spinning and burning process within the engine.

An X-02 and an F-14 hurriedly began rolling from their parked position, and proceeded to accelerate shakily into the runway, through the orange flames, and into the evening sky.

With nostalgic satisfaction, Jones managed to secure himself and fasten his helmet and oxygen on before he was pressed back in his seat from the acceleration. The plane began to straighten out as the speed increased and propelled the craft smoothly down the untouched runway.

Past the stalling point, the once experimental fighter rose into the ground, and the pilot melted back into his status as ace pilot Mobius 1.

The ground became the sky, and then the clouds. Two planes rocketed into the sky, leaving behind a brief cloud of evaporation as they broke the sound barrier.

"Mobius 1, Rapier 19, this is SkyEye. Approximately one dozen bandits have began bombing runs on Comona base, and should appear at vector 194. We currently have twenty-two fighters, including the two of you, to engage them. Mobius 1, keep the nuggets out of the fights with the Yellows."

"They've got Yellows?"

"Yellow 5, 22, 76, 9, and 4."

"Yellow Four . . . !? That's impossible!"

"It was visually confirmed, Mobius 1. Your mission is to either drive the enemy back from the base, or sanitize the airspace. Keep Comona intact by any means necessary. Understood?"

"Understood."

A few seconds passed by.

"Be sure that keep your guard. We have had pilots go down, reporting to have been shot from an unknown vector, stay alert and check six while fighting."

"Got it."

"Combat zone, at vector 194, two miles." The clouds rushed by as the congestion of fighters, attackers, and fireballs made itself visible in the distance, converging over the open and nearly cloudless evening skies.

"Continue bearing south-south-west to engage."

* * *

September 19, 2019/San Salvacion/San Salvacion National Airport/2142hrs

The old truck continued to drive steadily along the destroyed road as the last hubcap fell off.

"Captain, I just got a transmission from H.Q. They say the enemy is calling themselves 'Free Erusea"

Jack could barely listen as he was focused primarily on the ride, while it was pitch black. The vehicle had only one working headlight, it had seen heavy battle damage.

"Do you remember the conflict between Osea and Yuktobania nine years ago?" One soldier addressed the captain from the backseat as they continued through the gates of the airport.

Two guards on either side of the vehicle began to check the back of it for any unauthorized weapons before they were allowing them to continue into the airport.

"Yeah, I do. And the whole Belkan conspiracy behind it."

"What happens if the Eruseans make allies with another nation? H.Q. said something about that."

The bumpy road gradually and invisibly gave way to a smooth one. The only light was from the few running vehicles and the occasional glint of their headlights off of the chain-link fence.

"Then our asses will be sent off to fight a world war, that's what will happen, so you'd better pray it never comes to that."

" . . . "

Jack continued moving smoothly into the short-term parking. The signs were all dimly illuminated.

"Wasn't this a civilian airport?" He asked casually.

"Yes." The captain responded. "But now it's on lockdown. The only flights allowed are to and from the Farbanti International Airport (FIA)"

"Does this mean that I can't get a flight to Comona?"

"Hell no! You should be helping us rally up the town militia, anyhow. You have the most experience with a firearm."

"I've had these things for less than an hour! Besides, I have to meet Mobius 1!"

"Don't be ridiculous. Don't you have a family to take care of, some people to find? A lot of people were separated, and the Erusean forces will be here in full blast soon."

Jack pulled up at a parking space, and the soldiers began to file out and into the airport. The captain made his way to the double doors.

"Wait!" Jack noticed the door on the truck was stuck, and struggled with it until it simply fell off.

"Hold on!" he climbed over the fallen door and ran towards the captain, stumbling through the dark.

"Look, son, I've got some serious tactical mapping to do, forces to regroup, and commands to get in touch with. The Allied Forces are scattered right now and we can't afford to make any mistakes. What is it?"

"If I was in a fighter plane, would I be allowed to take it to Comona?"

"Listen, I already told you—"

"Sir, we have a staff shortage at Comona Air Base. The 82nd is doing a sweep of the city for qualified personnel. Permission to escort." One of his soldiers interrupted him.

"What was the situation?"

"It seems that the technical personnel usually present at Comona Air Base had left months ago, perhaps they weren't needed. They were recently taken prisoner from a cruise ship by Erusean naval forces. They are the only group of fighters without men to repair planes, or the base itself. They recently faced a heavy attack."

"How did they fare?"

"They had Mobius 1."

"Ahh, they're fine."

"Wait, hold on a sec." Jack interrupted them. "Do they need any engineers? I happen to be one."

Suddenly remembering the risk, the soldier turned his M-16 to safety. "We actually do."

"! Put me on the next flight to Comona then!"

The captain sighed. "Soldier, you have permission to escort. Jack, do what you want, I have to get to G.H.Q."

"What about the guns?"

"Keep them. The soldiers will provide you with artillery if you need it." The captain began to walk off.

"Well, thanks for everything, then."

A wave was his response as Jack turned towards the soldier.

"When can we leave?"

"The next flight isn't leaving for at least another eighteen hours. Just be back at this base by 1600 hours and you'll be fine. Why don't you reunite with your family until then?" The soldier began to march towards a small group of auxiliary vehicles in the long-term parking lot.

" . . . Right. Now maybe I can find them both." Jack said to himself, immediately planning his next move and searching for the truck he left.

* * *

September 19, 2019/Comona Skies/1829hrs

"You and your wingman's ETA is 20 seconds, Mobius 1, prepare for combat."

"I've never been in a dogfight before . . . " The Rapier aircraft throttled uneasily behind Mobius 1.

"Stay alert, know your aircraft, and keep your cool. The best advice I can give you."

"ETA in five seconds. Prepare for combat!"

Mobius 1's X-02 immediately tilted nose-down while braking, throwing the empennage forward. He then continued breaking at regular intervals, eventually sending the plane into a seemingly uncontrolled vertical spin. In this way, he dodged a flurry of bullets that came his way.

"Mobius 1, incoming missile!" AWACS warned as he pulled out of the fake spin.

After making a hard right and easily evading the missile, the pilot emptied a clip of Vulcan ammo into the nose of the offending plane, watching with grim ease as it drew a streak of fire across the darkening sky, barreling past Rapier 19 like a mechanical meteor.

The nugget hesitated before climbing and forming the tail of a five-plane formation of other allies from the Rapier Squadron.

"This is Rapier 12, Rapier Squadron engaging Yellows."

"Watch it kid!" Mobius 1 flipped upside down and trailed behind the nugget, reentering the sound barrier.

"Watch out for those yellow flashes!" A fighter warned.

The Rapier Squadron peeled off to surround the Yellows, leaving Rapier 19 exposed. By sheer luck, a yellow fighter involuntarily lurched forward at an awkward angle through the skies, inadvertently exposing itself to the nugget fighter. His blood rushed as his targeting systems went off.

"I'm targeted!" he yelled in confusion.

"Rapier 19, locked on." AWACS corrected him.

"Fire!" Almost every fighter alerted him.

Mobius 1's bullets tore into the side of the Yellow fighter, before Rapier 19 launched the missile that barely grazed but exploded, finishing it off.

The burnt shell spiraled towards the ocean as it caught fire nose-first, and the pilot ejected into the fray, waiting till he had descended to open his parachute.

"Rapier 19, Splash 1. Nice kill!"

"Bandit on my tail!" Rapier 12 dropped a few thousand feet, barely avoiding two missiles. "Somebody sanitize my six!"

Mobius 1 ever-so-slightly tilted his plane upwards, and in a maneuver that only he could pull off, spun a perfect 180 before accelerating towards the threat.

After acquiring a lock, the enemy began to swerve nervously.

"I've got the grim reaper on my tail! Someone get him off me!" He called out in a panic. His loss of cool affected his flying, and with precision, the ace pilot launched a missile. The normally excellent pilot was so frenzied that he ejected while his plane was still intact, and descended towards the Comona facility.

"Man, we're getting' prisoners left and right!"

"Don't get too cocky, nugget." Mobius 1 warned. "The other fighters are pulling back, but we still have two Yellows to deal with."

"Fighters withdraw. Rapier 8, 12, and Mobius 1 remain to sanitize the area."

His heart pounded as he noticed the four emblazoned on one of the aircraft.

"Yellow . . . Four? Is that you?" He asked over the radio.

There was no response.

"Mobius 1, engage!" AWACS reminded him.

"Answer me!" There was still no response, only the deafening silence. "Answer me, damn you!"

"This is Yellow 22, engaging the loud-mouthed bandit."

Mobius 1 prepared for an evasion, commanding cover tactics to his Rapier wingmen.

"Bandit approaching at vector . . . . what?" Rapier 8 muttered to himself over the radio.

"Which vector? I need to know which way to break!" Mobius 1 urged.

"This is screwed up . . . the vector isn't showing up on my radar."

Yellow 22 appeared behind Mobius 1, and missiles approached from both the top and bottom of his plane. He was so caught off guard that he almost didn't accelerate to evade.

"What in God's name was that!?" Rapier 12 screamed into the radio. "There's no way he could have launched missiles from two different areas! That would be impossible!"

"Rapier 8, watch your damn six!" Mobius 1 commanded. A missile approached from the front, another from behind Rapier 8.

"No! Two missiles! Two directions!"

At that single moment, for the first and one of the only times Mobius 1 wished he could temporarily give another pilot is skills.

"Pull up!" He warned the panicked pilot.

Rapier 8 just barely avoided the first missile by pulling over, and as he pulled into a tighter turn, the exhaust from his F-15 was practically burning up the missile trailing closer to him.

"Nooo!"

The missile impacted, setting off a chain of explosions in the sky that disintegrated the aircraft completely.

"Rapier 8 was shot down by a Yellow! His plane was completely incinerated."

"DAMN!" Mobius 1 slammed his controls, and because God had a sense of humor, his engine went off.

"Let that be a lesson. Next time, we anchor the fight." The Yellow laughed as the two fighters withdrew.

"Mobius 1, going down! Restart your engine!" AWACS warned. "Rapier 12, pull out of there!"

The pilot grimly turned back towards base.

"Yeah . . . this war's gonna blow" Mobius 1's plane plummeted like an arrow through the sky and towards the water. With accuracy, he managed to pull up the X-02 so it skimmed the waves, before mashing to a stop and floating idle along the surf, slowly but surely beginning to sink.

"Mobius 1, do you copy?" AWACS piped up after a few seconds of silence.

"I do."

"We're sending a rescue team. One more thing. Erusea has just declared war against the Independent States at Eastern Erusea.

" . . . "

"We have confirmed that they are allied with the Osean sphere."

Mobius 1 wondered would happen if he ignited his engine in the water. He prepared his life jacket.

"Osea? I thought Osea agreed to no hostilities against the Independent States."

"It seems that that is no longer the case."

"Do we have any Alllies?"

"Not that we know of, Mobius 1, not that we know of."

"But if Belka maintains neutrality . . . . "

"Then we'll be alone in a war against two nations. We are conducting talks with the Yuktobanian government, however an Alliance for the purpose of war may be unlikely, as they are tied by peace treaties of their own."

Before opening the cockpit and plunging into the water, the pilot asked one more question.

"What do you need me to do _this_ time?"

"Go back to Comona and get some rest. You'll be flying to the Yuktobanian capital two days from now to escort our president."

"I had a feeling." With satisfaction, the pilot smashed the button and sprung into the ocean, immediately surfacing. Cursing his own skill, he awaited the unfamiliar sound of the rescue chopper.

* * *

**AN: I think I might have involuntarily set the stage for the next settings of the story, rather than expanded more on the story itself. I haven't written for this in a while, so if there is any way I can improve, tell me by all means so I can correct any problems for the next chapter. I appreciate the feedback.**


	4. Osea's Finest

Osea's Finest

**By Blue Dragon**

September 20, 2019/Sand Island AFB/0330hrs

Two soldiers stepped back onto the newer side of the mile-wide parking lot. They stood unmoving as they faced the crowd made up of dozens of previously retired airmen in various nightclothes and pajamas. One man was in only his boxers and tennis shoes; they had been rapidly collected throughout the west coast of Osea and flown in within the hour.

The chain-linked gates began to open slowly, cutting through the cool night air, and sighs of protest escaped the mouths of the crowd.

"I thought you closed off this God-forsaken place!" A few murmurs could be heard through the crowd, and it might have gotten louder had it not been composed of disciplined military individuals.

A colonel, fully decked out in combat attire, stepped slowly out of his spot in the tollbooth, switching his M-4 in and out of safety idly. His steps quieted the half-dressed individuals, and he finally stopped at the opened gate between the two guards, peering through the darkness at the assortment of men and women.

"You're all probably wondering why we snatched you out of your homes at three thirty in the morning, eh?" He stared up at the half-moon. "And why we're re-opening a formerly closed base on Sand Island, right? Am I right?"

"Yeah you're right!" A brave soldier yelled from the crowd, who then parted to reveal him.

" . . . . Grimm, is that you?" The colonel peered through the darkness. "That sounds like your voice."

" . . . Yes sir, it's me." He gulped nervously and blinked his tired eyes. He was still finding it hard to believe that only a little over an hour ago he had been sleeping in his own bed a hundred miles away.

"Good to hear your voice."

Grimm breathed a sigh of relief.

"Anyhow, you all are right to be wondering 'why?'. What I'm about to tell you will come as a shock, and if you decline to join up, I will completely understand. We put you all on leave and guaranteed peace, and now, we're crawling back to you. You have every right to take the next flight back to your families, no hard feelings. Are you willing to listen?"

There was a silence, broken by the guard on the left coughing and checking his watch.

"Alright. September 20, 2014 at 0001 hours precisely, three two-ton bombs were dropped on the capital building at Oured."

Gasps and yelps of surprise tore over the crowd, and a commotion began until they were silenced.

"Let me finish. We found that the reason the B-52's made it so far through defenses is that they were three of our own Osean planes, hijacked by some individuals; an effort that must have taken extreme planning. Two planes escaped to the ocean, and disappeared. However, one plane was shot down and the six crewmen were captured around October City, where they are now being held. Without any type of forceful extraction, the crewmen provided full details regarding their origin; Eastern Erusea. It seems that they were airmen sponsored by the Allied States, or ISAF."

He wiped some sweat off of the back of his neck.

"You see, their plan was to turn the Free Erusea Western States against the Osean Federation by framing terrorists from that area, but apparantly the frightened crewmen were willing to blurt out that the ISAF, not terrorists, but government had planned this. The blast killed sixteen senators, twenty-one representatives, and fourteen other officials. Fortunately, the president and his cabinet were nowhere in the vicinity. A total of one-hundred and eight-one individuals were seriously wounded. Considering the size and type of the bombs, the only thing that saved us was the fact that the strike was in the middle of the night, otherwise the casualties may have very well been sky high. Our nation has allied with Free Erusea, and declared war against the ISAF. We need good pilots, if you're not up to it, back out now."

There was a major silence, and no one moved. After a few seconds, one person stepped back.

"I'm sorry, I have a family, started a business, I—I just can't—"

"It's understood." The colonel raised is hand and finished for him. "We need some of you alive, anyway." He chuckled.

After this, more and more people stepped back, until less than half of the original crowd remained. Another tense period of time passed by, until the colonel cleared his throat.

"Alright. Guards, please escort those in the back to the nearest 707's in the base vicinity. There, you will find food, beds, and air transport back home. Consider it our apology for waking you. No hard feelings, have a safe journey."

A pilot named Nagase brushed the long black hair out of her eyes as she shifted uncomfortably, wondering if she, too, should follow. Something inside stopped her, and she didn't move.

The colonel waved to the crowd in the back, and four armed soldiers exited the toll booth he had previously occupied, leading the crowd towards the abandoned airfield.

When they were a good distance away, the colonel turned around.

"Uh . . . is Cedric Firion in the crowd?"

There was another silence as the much smaller crowd began to move about slightly.

"Here, sir." A dark-haired pilot in aviators stepped from the back of the group of twenty-eight people.

Yet another silence followed, and the people began to clap slowly. The sound echoed through the night air as the clapping grew intense and faster, and a smile crept onto the slightly-wrinkled face of the colonel.

"Ced Firion, call sign Blaze. Glad you're on our side, Kid."

After a few whistles, the clapping died down and the soon-to-be active duty soldiers faced forward.

"Report to the rooms on the far west side, where you may make residence and get dressed. We'll orient you all at 0800 hours sharp in the briefing room. Until then, you all just get some rest."

As the pilots made their way to the west area of the complex and past the gates, the colonel turned and headed east. In a few short seconds, only three pilots remained.

After a few brief moments, Grimm stepped cautiously towards Ced and got a good look at his face.

"Wow . . . I didn't notice you, good to see you again captain." He briefly saluted. The pilot looked up at Grimm.

"You don't have to call me captain, we're all the same rank." He stated quietly after returning the salute.

"Nagase, I'm glad to see you, too. I didn't notice you either."

She smiled back at him as she shifted her shirt slightly to the right.

"Long time no see, Grimm. I haven't seen you since the graduation six months ago. How have you been?"

"Eh, pretty good . . . bored as sin, though."

She glanced to her right as she walked past him. "I know what you mean, Grimm. I've been adjusting for a while myself.

They both turned to Ced.

"You're still quiet as ever. If we fly combat missions, we'll have to get you talking again."

The lone pilot paced back and forth. "I'm not all that silent . . . I didn't see you at the ground meeting." The pilot changed the subject and continued pacing as he wiped the hair out of his dark eyes and pulled up the baggy pants he had on. He really wasn't dressed for public.

"Ground meeting?" Grimm asked, tilting his head in question.

"We work at the same office building." Nagase explained. "And I was busy doing some overtime on the ninety-second floor."

Grimm tried to stifle the laughter. "Ace pilots? Doing office work? Gee, I wonder what thwarted our hero status?"

Ced gave a rare sad smile. "We're forgotten aces. Funny how quickly the world forgets us, eh? First we're traitors, then heroes, then nobodies again. I guarantee you, if we _had_ been traitors that's exactly how we would have been remembered. Exactly."

Grimm nodded. "Too true. I'm headed to the west area, I'll see you two there."

"Later Grimm." Nagase called after him, followed by a brief wave from Ced.

The two were left in silence, and a cool wind blew by.

Nagase turned to her former captain, who remained silent.

"Tell me, what's on your mind?" She asked, trying to look straight into his eyes and past his sunglasses.

" . . . "

She came closer to him and held his face in both hands, looking up closer at him. He shifted slightly at her touch.

"Will you talk to me?"

Hesitantly, Ced touched her wrist softly, and cracked the closest he often came to a smile.

_If only you knew Nagase . . . damn, she's beautiful . . . . _he thought to himself as he looked back at her.

She sighed and stepped back.

"I'll see you on base, Blaze." She turned and soon disappeared into the night.

* * *

September 20, 2019/San Salvacion/San Salvacion National Airport/0452hrs 

Jack sat at a former departure gate, now a soldier's lounge, sipping coffee and staring over the early morning runway. It was at a time when the sun wasn't even considering coming out.

Of course, many things were flooding through his head. How is it that he had seen Yellow 13, supposedly shot down? Why did his wife go with him? How was he not to worry, she was carrying his child, for heaven's sake!

"Room for two?" He heard a very attractive voice that sent shivers down his spine ask of him.

"Yeah, sure, I'm just waiting for the next flight to Comona." He continued sipping coffee and staring out of the large window onto the runway.

The woman slipped over the seat and sat down in the one next to him. From her attire, she appeared to be in the military.

"I see you're with the . . . " Jack stopped short, he was stunned. She rested her head slowly onto her hand as she looked back at him urging him to continue. Her shoulder-length and very light brown hair partially covered her left eye, leaving only one, very transparent green one exposed.

For a member of active armed forces, her skin appeared very smooth and soft. She smiled a blinding smile expectantly back at him.

" . . . military. You're with the military. My name is . . . damn . . . "

He looked away.

_Calm down, man, you're married, you have a wife already, you can't be staring at women._

He felt her hand on his neck and his entire body shivered.

"Are you alright? You're red."

"I-I'm fine." She flashed the million-dollar smile again.

She slowly pulled her hand away. "You know, the next flight isn't for another twelve to thirteen hours. Why are you waiting here?"

"I was just . . . eager, I guess. I don't know." He sat up more, and rubbed his eyes. "I could really use some sleep, I might just leave." Thoughts of Faye flashed through his head. " . . . Or I might not."

"Hmm. Youre coffee's alright?"

"Yeah, you're pretty hot. I-I mean my coffee, _that's _pretty hot . . . yeah, that's what I meant to say." He looked away. He couldn't look at that woman any longer.

She laughed for a few seconds, before stroking his neck. "You're cute when you stutter. If you get tired, you're welcome to use my room; in the residential area on the east of this complex. Room thirteen. Knock twice."

"Thanks for the offer, but—"

"General, ma'am." A soldier interrupted him just as the woman stood. He didn't seem to notice any of what had gone on, and saluted his superior.

"Yes?" She returned the salute.

"You're wanted in the control tower ASAP." He reported, glancing at Jack.

"I'll be on my way." She turned to Jack.

"I hope to see you around." She said softly as she followed the soldier down the wide terminals.

Jack leaned back and downed the last of his coffee as she left his sight.

"'Pretty hot.'. Yeah, that was smooth of me . . . what am I saying? What do I care how I look to women, I have a wife." He sighed. "God I miss her . . . how can I possibly search for her?" Jack looked downwards on the gray carpet illuminated by the lighting above, and noticed the general had dropped a picture. At this point, he also began wondering how a general could have attained her rank at such a young age.

He picked up the picture and looked closely at it. It was one of her next to a man with blond, slicked back hair, and a pair of aviators.

* * *

September 20, 2019/Sand Island AFB/0754hrs 

Cedric sat in his room, skimming his eyes over the computer screen as lights from the computer flashed. His entire room was completely dark, save the occasional glimmer of light from the computer.

"Holy hell . . . " He was researching the flight records of the ISAF's top ace to see what he was up against. "'Mobius 1', 2000 plus hours of flight time . . . fifty-two time ace? That can't be right . . . "

"That's over two hundred and fifty planes. How can anyone possibly shoot down that many planes? There couldn't have even been enough wars for that . . . !" Grimm stared over Ced's shoulder.

" . . . I didn't know ISAF had pilots like that."

Grimm pulled his camouflage shirt down over his head. "He's been flying for a long time. You've got a record of twenty-nine time ace from just on short war. I bet his skills aren't anything like yours, Ced."

The ace continued skimming through the records.

"This whole war . . . do you think it's just another Belkan conspiracy?" Ced asked after the silence, his eyes glued to the computer screen.

Grimm shrugged. "I doubt it, they discovered that it was just a huge Belkan rebel-government group behind that whole incident, a monitored government is in charge now. Besides, it'd be really stupid for them to try that same thing again."

Ced nodded slightly.

"I hope you're right." He began shutting down the computer.

The intercom crackled in the back of the room.

"Soldiers, you are to report to the briefing room in five minutes time for your orientation. We also have new recruits arriving in approximately ninety minutes, get ready for our 'welcoming party.'"

The two hesitantly rose up.

"Just like old times, huh?" Grimm muttered as the two headed through the doorway and down the dimly lit hall towards the center of the complex—the briefing room."

The two's footsteps echoed through the silence as they moved down the corridor, side by side, both remembering the familiar twists and turns through the area.

After a few minutes of silent walking, the area opened up to a much wider and brighter corridor, after which Ced slipped his aviators on. The two caught Nagase coming out of an opposite hallway, and the three of them turned into a new corridor.

"Rested up?" Nagase asked Ced, knowing full well that he had probably been at the computer the entire time, researching ISAF.

"Ha. This guy was doing research the entire time, his eyes barely ever left the computer."

"Know your enemy, it's a valuable concept." Ced responded. His two wingmen laughed.

"You're in your twenties and you sound forty. Future workaholic of Osea, huh?" Laughed Grimm.

" . . . "

The three finally walked through a double door and into a well sized room where dozens of clearly bored airmen were seated in various locations; in front of them was a large holographic projection of the world, and to the right of it was a close up of Osea next to the Usea continent.

The colonel from before stepped onto a platform in front of the large projection, taking off his hat to reveal his graying hair.

"Greetings, soldiers, I am base commander, Colonel William Westary. I'll be briefing you on details for future operations, as well as our nations defense status. Alright . . . enough with the introductions, lets get to business."

The hologram flashed, and the entire space was filled with the map of Osea on the west, and Erusea to the east.

"As you know, our capital was attacked at 0001, a bit after midnight today. We are beginning our efforts to take East Erusea immediately, and we have Free Erusea acting in alliance."

Arrows snaked their way through southeast and north Erusea on the map.

"In a joint operation, we plan on initiating our march towards the capital by entering the mainland through the icy northern region, and establishing bases from the islands in the Comona area. Intel has determined that twenty-two hours and fifty-two minutes from now, a plane carrying the president of the Independent Federation of Erusean States will make a flight eastwards to Yuktobania's capital, Cinigrad."

He paced back and forth.

"We want to make a surprise attack on this plane, capture the president, and halt any negotiations between the ISAF and the Yuktobanians. We anticipate that we will have the element of surprise, as the plane will of course be heavily escorted. Also, we intend on sneaking through the mainland from the north, and storming at the southeast, where minimal resistance is anticipated. Our intelligence anticipates a four percent casualty rate for this operation, and it commences twenty hours from now."

He looked around to see if there were any questions.

"We'll have naval and air forces enter through the northern region, naval forces take the southeast, and we want strong air power to intercept the president's flight. This operation will be codenamed 'Blitzkrieg'. Are we clear on the details?"

The room was silent, save a few scattered coughs and the shuffling of the feet from some impatient airmen.

"Good, then until then, I recommend that—"

He was cut off as a violent concussion shook the entire base.

The lights briefly went out, and were later replaced by emergency lighting.

"Damnit. Control tower?" The colonel yelled over the explosions into the intercom.

"Westary, we have confirmed fifteen aircraft over the base, three approaching from north-northeast, ten from the south, and two doing runs right above us."

He struggled to his feet as he signaled for the pilots to get to the runway.

"Why the hell didn't our early warning pick them up?"

"We just got them back online, sir. It seemed that someone had intentionally snapped a lot of the wiring up."

" . . . I see. Scramble all available fighters, get the paramedics out to the runway, and make sure they take off in all directions! We don't need one big target."

"Colonel!" Grimm yelled as people milled past him and out through the emergency exits to get to the runway.

"What is it, soldier? Don't you have a plane to flyl?"

"Colonel, where are the planes from?"

There was a silence, before the control tower answered over the intercom.

"The markings and radio chatter indicates that they are all from the southern division of Belka."

Grimm sighed a deep sigh. The tides of war pulled at his soul again. He turned to sprint after Nagase and Ced.

The colonel almost lost his footing as another concussion from a closer explosion shook the room, and began bolting through the nearest exit to the runway.

"We're lucky we have Osea's finest here on the job . . . "


	5. The Wave

The Wave

**By Blue Dragon**

_Fear, anger, treachery and deceit all rolled up into one . . ._

September 20, 2019/Comona AFB/0700hrs

A mailman made his way through the Comona Airbase, a much busier place than it had been before. The message that was to be delivered became much more important than he could realize.

After darting through the uniform-filled crowd and stepping over turned over chairs and trashcans, he found who he was looking for; the ace pilot staring through the window overlooking a runway.

"Excuse me . . . " he approached the pilot's bench from behind and stopped a distance away from him, just out of the range of the crowd.

"Are you Major Jones?" The mailman stepped a bit closer, slightly startled when the pilot stood up and faced him.

He looked up and stretched before standing relaxed. "That's me."

The mailman took a breath.

"Only a major? Don't they consider you—"

"Hero? Ace of aces? That's what they called me. But then the people forgot. Even worse, they want to keep me flying in active duty, so they won't promote me to colonel."

It took a moment for the words to sink in.

"That's . . . pretty rough."

The ace pilot adjusted his aviators and shook his head before delivering a dismissive wave. "Don't worry about it. I didn't mean to start moaning to you. Did you want to see me?"

"Oh . . . ! Yeah, I have a message that is to be delivered to you, it's from the G.H.Q., the communications systems were out, so they're relying on word of mouth. They said that they wanted the Mobius, Rapier, and Omega squadrons to report to the briefing room."

"Central or West?"

"West."

"Oh, great, now I have to walk all the way to the other side of the complex for a simple briefing."

The mailman rubbed his chin for a moment and peered through the crowd behind him.

"Actually, if you want, I can give you a ride in my cart, it should take less than three minutes."

The Major's eyes lit up behind his sunglasses. "Really? That would be excellent, I'd appreciate it. Where are you parked?"

The mailman pointed to the wide area behind him. "I'm right down the connecting ramp of the tenth gate, two gates down from here."

"Sounds good . . . . " Mobius 1 muttered to himself as he began weaving through the crowd to get to the tenth gate, keeping an eye on the mailman so that he wouldn't get lost in the crowd. After less than a minute of crowd-weaving, the two emerged in the departure gate, and made their way to the northern end of the room where the ramp was connected to the door.

"Hey, do you know the details of the brief?" The pilot was still a bit tired out from the last flight.

"A few. It seems that you have made a friend and an enemy. The northern division of Belka is against you, and the south is for you."

The Major only rolled his eyes before the mailman continued.

"Judging by the relative strength of the major powers, it seems that Yuktobanian cooperation would be key. At this point, it would be the allied forces of the Yukes, Eastern Erusea, and Southern Belka against Osea, North Belka, and Free Erusea."

"Oh . . . so is that all?"

He raised his head thoughtfully. "I doubt it, there was information dealing with combat as well, but it was all confidential."

Mobius 1 groaned again.

"I'm supposed to be escorting the president in twenty-three hours and fifty-one minutes and they already want me to fly on another combat mission."

The two arrived at the small vehicle suited for airport travels, it was facing a sunrise that made the whole sky a shade of pink. To the dismay of the ace pilot, Airman Aston Martin was sitting in one of the seats.

"Hey Jones, you ready for the briefing?"

" . . . What are you doing here?" the exasperated man grunted as he sat in one of the back seats. The mailman climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine with a whine before they started moving forwards. The vehicle began rolling at a steady pace towards the G.H.Q. area.

"So Jones, I heard you had to be rescued by a chopper." The young recruit looked back from his seat towards the senior pilot.

" . . . "

"Finally get shot down?" he asked cautiously.

"Ha. Like hell I did. I slammed my controls and my thrusters went out."

"Yeah right!"

He shook his head in exasperation.

"I don't know why I'm even talking to you. I've fought more in one battle than you have your entire piloting career. What do you know?"

"Someone sounds like they woke up on the wrong side of the cockpit."

He narrowed his eyes as he stared at Martin.

"Cockpit?"

"Yeah. All the guys say that after you refuel you put your plane in autopilot and sleep in it."

" . . . You've got to be kidding me. What else do they say?"

The young pilot held out his hand as if counting quotes on his fingers. "They say that you drink kerosene and eat turboprops, and that your idea of a good book is 'Flight For Dummies'. They also say that you were born in the sky and they parachuted you from your mama. And they call y—"

"Alright already! Man, you do one lecture on stators and they think your some flight genius . . . "

The mailman stopped the small vehicle in front of a large and wide set of stairs that sloped up to three levels, the third level housing the G.H.Q. building.

"Thanks for the ride!" Martin slipped out of the cart. Jones pulled a few base credits from his pocket and handed it to the mailman.

"Here, buy yourself a beer or something."

"Very much appreciated." The mailman waved as he drove off to some unknown destination on the east side of the base.

The two pilots silently made their way up the outside set of stairs towards the main complex, wishing that they could enjoy the rapidly fading sunrise.

Martin was the one to open the door, and the two entered down the dark hallways lit only by complex maps and displays glowing blue. After a few more strides, they finally entered through the automatic doorway, into the well-full briefing room. Members of the Mobius, Rapier, and Omega squadrons sat around the outside, while a Brigadier General stood in the middle.

"Happy belated birthday, sir." Martin called to the man whose birthday had just passed.

"Suck up . . . " the senior pilot behind him muttered as he found a seat. "As if the AWACS commander wasn't popular enough."

"Hmm? Did you have something to say?" The higher-ranking officer looked from around one of the consoles at the Major.

"No, sir."

"Ah. I believe that that is all of you. Let's start this briefing." The commander rotated his wrist before hitting a few buttons on a nearby console.

Three large holographic displays lit up the dark room with blue.

"This briefing will be divided into four sections. First, we will explain what our analysis has discovered from the 'Impossible Vector' we've been experiencing. Then, we will give our current situation, the sitrep, and your orders for deployment. After that, we will identify our enemies as well as your next mission. Finally, we will discuss the details of the escort mission expected to commence approximately twenty-four hours from now. Are there any questions?"

The AWACS commander checked his screens to see if he could find any raised hands.

"None? Then let's continue."

The map zoomed closer into the Comona area, and satellite displays from the day before were brought up as well.

"First thing's first, the missiles. We received a great deal of reports of multiple missiles from opposite directions, as well as untrackable missiles fired by our most recent aggressors. Missiles of this sort were said to be from 'Vector Impossible'. Analysis indicates that the reason for this is an independent positioning system operated by a satellite orbiting in a geostationary position over Erusea. Another satellite was found in a sunsynchronus orbit above our arctic circle for reasons that are as of yet, unknown. The satellite system seems to cloak the missiles so they appear invisible both visually and on radar until they are at an advantageous point, after which they maneuver and continue straight towards their target; fully visible; until impact. Details of the technology are also unknown. However, from our own satellites, we have discovered that the one the enemy is using appears to function more as more than just a missile control, however we are still conducting investigation."

Without asking for questions, the commander took a few steps to the left and stared up at an empty space, where the next projection appeared.

"For now just evade as best as you can. The missiles aren't as lethal, so it won't be as critical to evade, but still be on your guard. Now . . . on to the second portion of this briefing . . ."

The man paced back and forth.

"It seems that we have a very good chance of alliance with the Yuktobanian Republics, and we have recently acquired the aid of Southern Belka. The capital of Osea, Oured, was bombed. It seems that we, the ISAF, were to blame. The ISAF pilots are being held in October City, and will soon be moved to November. A rescue operation is in planning."

"Did we do it?" A pilot questioned.

The commander coughed. "Details of that are classified. However, multiple Osean fighters are inbound from the west, they appear to be headed towards the Los Canas region, the former site of the Tango Line. This point is a strategic ISAF position, and loss of it will mean the initiation of an invasion of East Erusea. At 0900 hours, you are to be deployed to that area. Your estimated time of return is 0600 hours, giving pilots escorting the President three hours.

A large number of pilots began moaning and whining.

"Silence, this briefing is only halfway through, you all have a long road ahead of you. We predict that the Oseans will begin an invasion through the east, and will try to establish a beachhead at the Halle and Crowne beaches. The third beach is heavily fortified, minimal attack is anticipated . . . "

The commander took a deep breath and paced again.

"Finally, your escort mission. This will entail six fighters and four observation aircraft. The observation unit will consist of two E-3 Sentries, and two E-767s. The six fighters are to pilot F-22's, only Raptors. We can't risk anything less than the best we have. There is a possibility that we may receive assistance from North Belka, the Grabacr squadron, however rely on your own abilities as much as possible. Our fighters will be Mobius 8, Rapier 19 and 14, Omega 8 and 11, and of course, Mobius 1."

"Sir?" The pilot known as Omega 11 spoke up. "Mobius 1 should be more than enough to get the job done, right?" Nervous laughter echoed around the room, and Mobius 1 looked away.

"Quiet down. Osea will be sending their best if they plan an attack on the jet of the leader of our country." The commander looked at his watch. "Are there any questions?"

A pilot raised his hand, and looked around. "Yeah . . . " he stifled a laugh, and his friend nudged him while holding back one of his own.

"Is your mother in town . . . ?"

The entire briefing room burst out into uncontrollable laughter as Mobius 1 rolled his eyes.

_Rookies . . . laughing scared at stupid jokes before operations . . . _the pilot thought.

"That's it! Double toilet duty for you, soldier! You'll be peeling potatoes until you're old and gray! The rest of you are dismissed."

* * *

September 20, 2019/Sand Island AFB/0803hrs 

"Wardo—uh, I mean, Razgriz, there are three F-15As waiting for you in the hangars in front of the runway, number five." A soldier pointed his gun down a hallway, and Ced nodded his head in acknowledgment.

Nagase and Grimm turned the corner soon after him, and the three almost lost their footing as an explosion sent another wall of heat through the walkway, followed shortly by a concussion.

"We've got to get in the air!" Grimm yelled over the sound of jet engines and bombs. After a corridor that seemed to last forever, the three scrambled up the mobile ramps and sprung up into the black fighter jets, the tops of them already open.

"You are all cleared for takeoff on runway five!" Another soldier yelled to them just as the rotors began spinning and the fuel began burning.

Ced tried to relax himself.

_You are Blaze, no one else right now . . . _He snapped on his mask and zipped up his suit, hastily making flight checks. The three planes began to roll out into the damaged runway, one after another, and pick up speed.

Eager to take off, the three became airborne just barely above stalling speed, and their planes shook.

"I wish Captain Snow was here . . . . " Nagase muttered to herself as she secured her mask, already feeling the air become thin.

The three spun into perfect formation, and got a good look at the melee around them.

"Watch it, Blaze!" Grimm warned as the remnants of an enemy plane flew past his lead. "Archer, engaging!"

"Edge, engaging."

"Fighter squadron, this is AWACS, call sign Centauri. Razgriz, we have two B-2s doing bombing runs over this base, they are the number one priority. Three B-52s are inbound from the north-northeast. Above us are three F-16s, five F-14s, and two F-15s, they're from Grabacr, watch it!"

"Grabacr . . . !" Archer yelled over the radio. "Captain, didn't we shoot them do—" He was cut off as the flaming shell of a friendly plane flew past them towards the ocean, disrupting the radio frequency.

"Grimm, they said 'it wasn't over'. I guess this is what they meant. Blaze, engaging!"

The two wingmen followed Blaze into the fray.

"This is Centauri. You have three Falcons at vector 330, on the nose! One B-2 at vector 010."

"Edge, take out the Falcons! Archer, we're hitting the B-2s!"

"Yes sir!" Before the pilot could even finish responding, Blaze had already accelerated to Mach 1.5., and was gaining speed.

"This is Turkey Five, the enemy is on my tail, someone clear my six . . . " One of the bombers spoke as Blaze closed in.

"GHQ, it's not as if you're up against the Razgriz, shake him off."

Blaze smirked as he engaged the targeting systems. He felt the familiar rush from combat. As he was ashamed to admit; he loved a fight.

"He's on my six! Someone sanitize my six!" The B-2 began evasive maneuvers early, pulling into a tight spin through the morning air, weaving inadvertently through bullets. Just as he began to straighten out, Blaze compensated for the stealth capability of the bomber with small distance, and shot two missiles, both impacting.

"I'm hit! I'm trailing smoke!"

Blaze pulled back on the throttle and released a good deal of bullets, before hearing a satisfying explosion.

"Damnit! We can't hold on! We're gonna fall—" The radio cut out as the B-2 began trailing an even thicker layer of smoke, and soon, fire as well.

"Blaze shot one down!" Archer reported.

"This is Edge, I've located our allies, they're clearing my six."

It was then that it was clear how serious the attack was. The numbers were roughly even on both sides, but the battlefield had quickly become a cage of bullets, missiles, and planes tangled in a dizzying array.

"Centauri here, one B-2 remaining."

"Centauri AWACS, this is Zephyr 1. I have shot down the second B-2."

"We can't climb any higher!" Another enemy transmission rang through.

"Excellent! Three bombers remaining."

Blaze zoomed in as he realized he had a missile behind him.

"Blaze, evade!" Edge warned.

Blaze continued flying straight towards a B-52, and in a maneuver that less than seven pilots in the world were capable of, he shot up as the missile flew past him, impacting the underside of the B-52 before it could change course.

"We've been hit! She's breaking up! She's break—" The Statofortress began to plunge down into the ocean, fire trailing from behind.

"Snap back to reality . . . " Blaze laughed over the radio.

"Blaze shot one down, repeat, one bomber splashed."

"There's no stopping you, captain!" Archer commented as the concentrated on the next bomber.

"Archer, fire as soon as you get a lock." Blaze warned.

The pilot nodded inwardly, and concentrated, his sweaty and gloveless palms gripping the lever. As soon as he was in range, the beeping filled his cockpit, and he rammed the two buttons to engage the missile. The ramjet of the missile engaged early, and immediately gained speed. After a briefly extended trip through the air, it impacted the left wing of the bomber as it began evasive maneuvers.

Blaze watched in satisfaction as an ally began sidewinding to the right, and released an XLAA that gained speed immediately, and lanced into the bomber with astounding accuracy, breaking it effectively in half.

"One bomber remaining. Keep it up. The others have managed to clear the fighters down to four. We have five enemy aircraft remaining on radar"

"Have we lost any?" Edge asked AWACS.

"Yes, Zephyr 2 though 5 were shot down."

"Damn . . . " Blaze muttered as he heard his warning systems go off.

"Grabacr 5. Remember me, Razgriz?" A voice spoke to Blaze.

"No, I lost track after shooting down all of you!"

The irritation of the Grabacr fighter was apparent. "? This is your doom, Razgriz!"

"Those words belong to you—" Blaze reeled in his seat as he was hit with a missile, his plane still maintaining its integrity as it began to spin. Through a wave of Blaze's obscenities, the other Grabacr fighter began laughing.

"Your country will pay for this unjust war, and we'll start with you, damned Razgriz!"

"Edge, Fox Two!" The female pilot kept her plane steady as it shot into a climb after firing, and smiled in satisfaction as her missile impacted the Grabacr fighter. There was a small explosion on the back of it, and it was temporarily lost behind a wall of smoke.

Our _country? Wasn't it the ISAF who started this? Why are we the ones to pay . . . ? _Blaze thought to himself.

"Damn! She's starting to break apart! I'm gonna RTB!" the fighter shakily began to turn northeast, and the second Grabacr fighter began to support the bomber.

"Two fighters remaining, this is Centauri."

Blaze steadied his shaky plane as the warning systems beeped at thirty-seven percent danger levels. In a maneuver of a true ace, he fired just as the fighter began to pass the bomber, causing the missile to explode over the cockpit of the B-52. The shrapnel almost directly hit the nose of the Grabacr fighter.

"How the hell did he do that? This is Grabacr 1, I can't see through the smoke! I'm returning!"

"Yes!" Archer cheered as he began to barrel roll. "Airspace sanitized!"

"Uh . . . not yet, fighters. Multiple TU-160s are inbound from the south. It seems they had us surrounded . . . how did they know we'd be here? Drive them back immediately!" The AWACS warned all available fighters.

"Hey, are there any fighters around? This is Knight Air, I'm going to intercept." A radio transmission from a previously silent pilot crackled over the radio.

"This is Hans Grimm, call sign Archer."

"Kei Nagase, call sign, Edge."

"Cedric Firion, call sign Blaze."

A red F-22 fell into position behind the three southbound planes, and the four engines began to thunder together as the Tupolev bombers appeared on radar.

"Pleasure to fly with the Razgriz, I didn't notice you all down on the ground."

There was a beeping sound over the radio, interrupting communications.

"All aircraft, an IFF signal has just been registered from the Blackjacks. It seems the bombers are friendly, they're going to be stationed at Sand Island. All bandits down or no factor; RTB"

The pilots were quiet, before inwardly relaxing and changing their headings. The sun, now making its journey over the sky at a sharper angle, glinted off of the canopies of the rerouted aircraft.

"Thank goodness, I only had a couple of missiles left!" Archer's relief was very noticeable in his voice.

"Blaze, is your plane alright?" Edge fell into cover behind her captain, temporarily squeezing off the exhaust before the thrusters began burning again.

" . . . What? Yeah, it's fine. Hey, Nagase?"

"Yes?"

The lead pilot wasn't used to being the one to initiate dialogue with others, especially with this particular woman.

"Let's talk when we get back to the ground."

* * *

September 20, 2019/San Salvacion/San Salvacion National Airport/1235hrs 

"Riots around the city, fueled by angry feelings against the Eruseans, have broken out and continue to increase in intensity. Also, protestors have gathered in front of the town hall, lobbying the government officials to reveal the details of the alleged attack of the independent states against the Osean Federation . . . "

Jack sat back in his chair and listened to the news, staring at the photo that he found from the officer.

"Hmm . . . looks like a pilot . . . " He relaxed further into the reclining chair, and turned away from the television screen.

"Jack?" He heard the familiar voice behind him, and immediately put the photo away.

"Yeah?" He turned around to see the officer circle around the row of chairs and sit across from him, crossing her ankles and pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes.

"You're married, aren't you?"

" . . . Yes, I am."

She looked away, towards the airfield. The sun was high in the sky, and was periodically blocked out by the heavy clouds that floated by. Their shadows cast themselves clearly all over the empty runways.

"Have you heard of the Ofnir squadron?"

He nodded.

"Weren't they Belkan aces?"

She shook her head. "They consider themselves aces of no country these days. Ofnir, Grabacr, Razgriz, Yellow and Mobius. These are the most powerful squadrons in the world, and will determine the outcome of all future air battles. Yellow works with Razgriz, not by choice, but by the tides of war."

She stared straight into his eyes, temporarily freezing him again.

"In war, you can't choose your friends and enemies. Those are decided by battles, politicians, and circumstances beyond one's control. The Mobius squadron is allied with the Grabacr squadron, leaving only one, and that's Ofnir. But in their state of operation, they consider themselves neutral, even though they were previously divisions of Belkan provinces. Why do you think that is?"

There was an uncomfortable silence as the sound of jet engines filled the room; a plane was landing.

"That's your ride, Jack, it departs in less than four hours, be ready."

She stood up to leave, but before she could begin to stroll off, Jack spoke.

"Why are you telling me these things?" He turned and made eye contact, and noticed a brief, almost undetectable flash of sympathy from her eyes.

"Because I want to help you; with everything. But you have to help yourself."

She turned again and made her way towards the departure gate; the gate from which Jack himself would soon be leaving to the Comona Airbase to see the pilot that he always seemed to narrowly miss in the past—Mobius 1.


	6. Bloody Squadron

Bloody Squadron

**By Blue Dragon**

September 20, 2019/Comona AFB/0830hrs

"Hell yeah!" The major exclaimed in a surge of rare excitement as he stared down his favorite plane. Working off the nervous energy, he grabbed the helmet portion of his suit and paced back and forth, under the wing of the X-02.

"I don't even know why this is an experimental fighter, they should mark it as part of the full-time fighter class."

Martin sighed.

"I thought we were all in F-22s?"

Jones rolled his eyes as he strapped on his right glove and slowed down his pace over the metallic tiles of the hangar.

"I requested the X-02 personally. Who's on this mission? Omega 8, 11, you, Rapier 14 . . . "

"That's all of them, I think."

"You're probably right." The major turned to Martin. "You're lucky to be on such a mission, they must be confident in your piloting capabilities."

The second the officer said the word 'pilot', there was a gleam in Martin's eyes, a gleam of an ace.

" . . . soldier, are you feeling alright?" He asked, tilting slightly and concentrating more intently on the man's eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Jones. Are we gonna go? Its almost nine-o-clock."

The other three pilots entered from around the corner, appearing small in front of the large hangar door.

"Hey, Mobius 1, you ready?" The pilot, Omega 11 greeted him.

"I was born ready." Jones turned away from Martin, and crossed his arms for a moment before strapping his suit the rest of the way on. "I haven't been to the Los Canas region in a while. I hope I can still navigate those skies."

"It shouldn't be that much of a problem, we'll have those E-3s showing us the way." The pilot of Omega 8 pulled up the rolling stairs loudly towards his F-22.

The others nodded in his direction, and began to follow his example. Four other portable staircases were rolled with nervous precision towards the waiting planes; imposing monuments, fully loaded and cleaned.

Mobius 1, as he was again called, stopped in front of his raven-painted fighter. It was an intimidating machine, deadly, imposing, and beautiful. As he stood before the nose, the plane seemed to tower above him and stretch an unusual distance. Even the smallest of modern fighters was intimidating to the unequipped soldier. The gleaming barrels on either side of the craft gave one the impression that if they didn't move soon, they would be shot. The missiles strapped to the wings made the already-intimidating craft absolutely terrifying, even to the pilot. To the enemy, it was a nightmare, especially with a good pilot in the cockpit.

Without another moment of hesitation, Mobius 1 snapped out of his trance and rocketed up the stairs, into the open cockpit. He strapped himself in and made all the proper attachments out of reflex as the top began to close slowly.

The force from the freshly ignited engine flowed through his own body as he went through the startup procedures. A gleam of light from the opening portion of the hangar forced him to squint before pulling one his helmet with the visor down. The planes began rolling slowly towards the runway, falling into a single file line with Mobius 1 trailing behind.

"SkyEye here. You are all cleared for takeoff on the eleventh runway. Stand by for the briefing."

It wasn't long before the commander began again.

"Further analysis on the satellite positioned above the arctic circle has revealed definite possibilities of S-O-L-G systems."

There was a silence among the pilots. They all know what SOLG entailed: Weapons of Mass Destruction.

"Those damned Eruseans . . . is there any distinction between wars anymore?"

Omega 11 began to gain speed, and then ascended into the bright blue sky as Mobius 1 continued speaking.

"How much more blood has to spill? It sounds cliché, but _Christ_. We're not even soldiers anymore. Just . . . "

"Machines?" Rapier 19 finished for him as his F-22 began to rise after the first craft.

"AWACS here. Continue northwest at vector 314 towards the Los Canas region. Minimal hostile engagements anticipated. You will be refueled twenty miles away from the insertion point. At the ten mile mark from the insertion point into the Los Canas region, you are to maintain radio silence until engagements. The E-3s will lead the way until then. Good luck."

"This is Omega 8." A voice crackled, completely inaudible to anyone who wasn't experienced with deciphering radio chatter. "How's your GF Mobius 1?"

"She is _not _my girlfriend." Mobius 1 reaffirmed in a childlike manner.

"Hmm, friends with benefits . . . " Rapier 14 piped in over the radio.

The frequency was clogged with laughter from all but one pilot in the sky.

"Yeah yeah, shut up. I'd feel better if we maintained radio silence _now_." Mobius 1 stared out of his plane, feeling the almost comforting gravity forces press him back to his seat, hearing the sound of the turbines fill his ears, and staring at the blue and white that rushed passed him as he approached the coastline with the other planes. Gradually, they formed a five plane formation as the E-3s and E-767 craft became visible in the distance.

Though they were unfamiliar with each others' flying styles, they adapted to one another quickly and wove a formation as tight and inspiring as that of the Mobius squadron.

"SOLG, huh . . . I though that one Osean squadron took it out . . . " Rapier 19 muttered over the radio.

"SOLG is a system, not necessarily a single machine. Is this the work of the Belkans . . . ?" Mobius 1 answered him, before Omega 11 joined the frequency.

"I always thought that Belka was reunited. Why is it that they're splitting apart? War, undoubtedly . . . " He muttered the answer to his own question.

Omega 8 continued.

"Hey . . . Mobius 1? I heard you saw Yellow 4 and 13. Is that even possible?"

" . . . . "

There was an ominous silence.

"Fighter squadron, this is SkyEye. You've got five bandits coming in at Mach 2."

* * *

September 20, 2019/Sand Island AFB/0915hrs 

Blaze gradually relaxed at the controls as his plane, still smoking, shook to a stop in the damaged hangar.

Technical crews were already beginning to swarm the place, evaluating damage and even beginning repairs. The sound of friendly aircraft replaced the sound of dogfights, and the paramedics began to transfer all patients. The planes parked, the technicians began clearing the runways, and makeshift intercoms had already been installed.

_Why would anyone intentionally mess up the early-warning? All of this could have been prevented . . . _

He released the controls to open his cockpit as he began to undo his hastily-worn flight gear out of habit.

Without thinking about the staircase, he flipped himself out of the cockpit, cursing as he fell a good distance to the ground, rolling hard on the charred tiles.

"Damn!" he was jerked out of his thoughts as he stood quickly, dusting himself off and rotating his sore limbs.

Nagase and Grimm rushed over from the outer edge, where they hard parked their planes.

"Are you okay?" She grasped his shoulder as Grimm looked him up and down.

"That was quite a fall, captain. Why didn't you wait for someone to roll up a flight of stairs?"

" . . . I was just thinking to myself. I hate Grabacr."

Grimm blinked.

"That was a pretty rapid change of thought. I hate 'em too, though."

Nagase shook her head. "Don't worry, we've tangled with them before. Besides, we'll have the help of the Yellow Squadron. Ofnir is apparantly on our side, though, not as powerful."

Ced began leading the way to the inner corridors, the relatively undamaged portion of the base, as he rubbed his shoulder.

"I thought they were both general Belkan ace squadrons . . . "

Grimm walked to the right of his captain.

"With us, the Yellows, and Ofnir, the concentration of air power seems favorable on our side."

Cedric blew out an uneasy breath.

"Mobius 1 . . . I'd love to see him fly. If anyone's going to give me a problem, it's him."

Nagase laughed.

"When has _any _pilot given you a problem?"

The ace pilot swallowed.

"They're out there. Sometime . . . somewhere . . . I'll have to face them."

Grimm prepared to turn a corner.

"I'm going to head to the briefing room to talk to some of the officers; I want a better idea of what's going on. I'll catch up with you guys later."

Ced nodded slightly, and Nagase waved. The two continued on in silence, gradually inured to their own monotonous footsteps.

"Hey .. . . "

He stopped at Nagase's voice.

"What is it?"

After pausing and turning to face him, the woman took of her gloves and stored them in one of her side pockets, maintaining eye contact.

"Did you way you wanted to talk to me when we were down on the ground?"

" . . . "

She couldn't help but smile.

"Or . . . is your head still in the clouds. Ced?"

A ray of light from a small window made Nagase's eyes appear brighter than usual. He blinked at her.

"Uh . . . let's wait till we get to the cafeteria, I'm hungry."

She shrugged.

"I was wondering where you were going. Lead the way."

The two continued on in silence. After a buzzing sound, the lighting was restored throughout the base.

"Well, that's a start." Nagase rubbed her forearm.

The young pilot only nodded as his eyes dilated.

When they reached the cafeteria, the two paused, staring at the ridiculous line that snaked around the reasonably-sized perimeter three times.

"Hmm. We could wait a while until it shrinks?" Nagase suggested.

Ced shrugged, and started towards the nearest table among a group of booths bordering a wall. The cafeteria appeared intact.

The two sat across from each other, and they relaxed for the first time in a while.

Nagase smiled, seemingly to herself.

_Stop being beautiful . . . you're distracting me . . . _Her eyes seemed to light up when they made contact with him.

"Actually, I have something to tell you, too." Nagase spoke first.

The pilot relaxed in his unusually comfortable chair, rehearsing what he'd say.

_Being away from you this long, and being through this much has really changed me. I don't want my only bond with you to be on the battlefield, I want to be with you, I want to . . . _

"My boyfriend proposed to me yesterday."

_So my suspicions were correct. God hates me._

"Who . . . ?"

Nagase blinked.

"Have I not told you? Wow, we should really stay in closer contact if we work for the same company! Before I came here, he asked me to marry him." She smiled sadly.

"That's why I'm hesitant to start all of these war-games. I have more to hold on to."

_What's this? Pain? But no part of my body hurts, why does it feel so bad? What's wrong . . . _Questions flooded his head as the forgotten emotion tore away at him.

"So . . . you're engaged. That's . .. cool."

She tilted her head.

"That's the first time I've ever heard you use that word. Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost, was it the fall?"

_My fall from heaven!_

"Yeah, my fall."

"We can go to the infirmary and get a few tests done later on."

_No doctor can cure what I've got._

"I'm sure he can fix me right up." He bit his tongue, holding his words until he could think of a way to change the subject again.

"Uh . . . hey, do you know anything about other ace squadrons?"

Nagase placed her elbows on the table, and rested her head on her hands as she began to concentrate.

"I'm sure that there are a good number of formidable squadrons, but I don't know of many veteran legendary ones . . . "

Ced pulled a packet of things that he'd printed from his computer from his large side pocket, and set them on the table in a small stack.

"I read something here about a forgotten group of Belkan pilots, they were originally called Sky Blue. After the second page, the printer ran out of ink. I haven't read what happened to them yet."

"Did you bookmark the page?"

"No, Dammit . . . I have to hunt for it again. How'd you know I was using the computer and not the records?"

She laughed and smiled.

"How would you find Belkan records in any Osean Air Force base?"

"Oh yeah . . . " He put his packets of information away and continued to think.

"Did you notice that our early warning systems were sabotaged?" He changed the subject again.

"Yes, I dd. I can't imagine who would have done that, though."

Ced leaned back and stared at the line that hadn't moved a bit.

"I'll bet we have something going on in here, we have to be careful."

For the brief moment that he spoke, the pilot again occupied himself with military thought to push the other, more emotional thoughts out of his head.

And for that brief moment, he felt as if he was being watched.

* * *

September 20, 2019/San Salvacion/San Salvacion National Airport/1533hrs 

"All passengers with schedule changes please report to your gate to confirm your departure times. One flight number has been rescheduled. Flight 775 is departing from the only operating gate at 1600 hours for Comona Air Base. Passengers in the last eight rows may begin boarding."

Jack looked around the empty terminal, laughing. He was definitely the only one within two hundred meters of the gate.

As he began to grab his few belongings, he felt a vibration in his pocket.

" . . . "

He quickly reached for his cellular phone, and threw off his blanket as he pulled the device to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello. This is 'J', I presume?"

The man paused before breathing.

"Do you mean Jack?"

The gruff, monotonous voice continued without acknowledging his question.

"This is the leader of the Yellow Squadron speaking. We are calling to confirm that you are the husband of . . . "

He heard a voice in the background.

"Faye Takashi-Bryant?"

His heart skipped a beat.

"Where is she? I swear to God, if you've hurt her—"

"That's all we needed to know."

"Answer me! Where is she? Answer me, damn you! _Answer—_" All he heard was dial tone after a click.

He ran his hand through his hair nervously and paced around. Was she even alive? It wasn't even his wife alone; it was his wife and his child. Now it seemed as if every second that went by without knowing where she was taking a piece away from him.

After collecting his thoughts, he pulled out his phone and stared at the number on his screen. The exact number was untraceable, but the leading code indicated that the call had been made from somewhere in Belka.

"All remaining passengers for flight 775 to Comona AB may now board. We will be taxiing shortly."

Jack shakily grabbed his luggage and left his blanket, turning off the portable television as he made his way towards the plane, expecting the converted commercial jet to be empty.

When he entered, he was surprised that no one checked his ticket, and even more surprised when two men with M-16s grabbed his luggage and headed down an alternate passageway to the cargo bay, keeping their guns strapped across their chests.

As he walked down the connecting trailer, towards the opening of the plane, he was surprised to hear commotion. When he entered the plane, he was greeted by the sight of engineers, pilots, soldiers, and guards.

"Alright!" The voice of one of the loud soldiers boomed from behind him. "Who wants to fly us to Comona?"

At least thirty hands from across the three aisles of personnel went up.

"McCarty, it goes to you, I did promise you dibs after our refueling here. Don't attempt any barrel rolls, hmm?"

A red haired pilot stood up and hurried down the aisle.

"Yeah, yeah" He muttered as he excitedly ran towards the cockpit.

Jack made his way through the sea of commotion, heading towards the seat where the new pilot had just been sitting.

The soldier next to him, already decked out in camouflage, glanced at Jack.

"So, what're you?" The middle-aged soldier asked.

Jack stuffed his remaining luggage under the seat in front of him. His thoughts were still on his wife.

"I-I'm an engineer." He replied.

"Good, we need more of those."

That was as far as their conversation went for a long time.

Without the delay of most conventional flights, the aircraft began to taxi rapidly.

An engineer to the right across the aisle placed a pair of glasses on her face after taking a magazine from the pocket in front of her. After flipping through it, she glanced to her left at Jack.

"Excuse me?"

Jack took his head from his elbow and turned to face her as the aircraft began to accelerate.

"Do you know if the Mobius Squadron is still stationed at the Comona AB?"

He found it a coincidence that she might be going to the base for the same purpose as himself.

"That's what I was told, they should be there unless they were scheduled for a mission by the time we got there."

She nodded, and went back to her reading, while Jack pondered the intentions of the young engineer.

"Why do you want to see the Mobius squadron?" He asked her. She turned to him, causing an auburn ponytail to fall from her shoulder before answering him.

"I was hoping to speak with Mobius 1."

* * *

September 20, 2019/Comona-Canas Skies/0918hrs 

"I'm no joy . . . " Muttered Omega 11 as the planes began to fan out in a basic line formation.

"Doesn't matter. Hit the afterburners. Rapier 19, cover me. Rapier 14, try to cover 8 and 11. Omega 11, take the front left. Omega 8, go in center. I'll take the front-right position. Fan out over an eight-mile radius keeping a constant heading. Try to maintain altitude for now."

"Mobius 1, SkyEye speaking. They should be coming in at vector 315, on the nose. Five SU-37s confirmed. They are believed to be Yellow. All five are fully armed and have broken form a larger formation at vector 010. We are sending reinforcements."

The pilot would have rolled his eyes if he could afford to take them off of the rapidly accelerating sky around him. For a short moment, he tried to imagine how afraid he would be so high up if he didn't feel at home in the sky.

"Why do you need to send reinforcements?"

"An active satellite signal tells us that they're utilizing Vector Impossible."

"What?"

The lead pilot didn't even have to speak the order.

"Everyone begin evasive maneuvers now! I don't give a damn if your warning signals are buzzin' or not!" Omega 11 yelled over the radio.

Just as the pilot finished warning the others, all five planes began blaring missile warning signals.

Mobius 1 began to spin instinctively, and gasped as his sharp pull upwards at the speed of sound crushed his chest inwards. After sucking in more oxygen, he tilted himself to the side and began to spin again as he maneuvered randomly. In the distance, he saw three missiles following the plane that he believed to be Rapier 14.

"Rapier 14, hit the A/B's!"

"What?"

"Hit the A/Bs, _now!"_

The pilot complied, narrowly avoiding one missile as the other two missed altogether.

"Where in God's name are they? I can't see a single one of them!" Omega 8 spun through a barrage of bullets before narrowly evading another long-range missile.

"Help!" The voice of Rapier 19 gasped over the radio.

_That's enough of this crap! If I can survive an Erusean super-weapon that could have shot me down hundreds of miles away, I can survive_ you_ scum. _

Mobius 1 threw his plane into an almost impossible forwards tumble, silently thanking all of ISAF for his oxygen mask, and listening to his radar lock onto an invisible source. Without questioning, he fired twice as he rocketed past one of the three E-3s.

He watched in awe as his missile impacted, and caused a flash of a fighter to slip by, now illuminated.

Smoke trailed from the invisible source in the shape of a plane, like a smoky ghost of an aircraft. A tiny fire wrapped slowly around the invisible shape of an empennage.

"What the fu—"

"They're using cloaking systems. I've never seen anything like it." Rapier 19 cut off Omega 11.

"Pilots, this is Mobius 1. We have a third E-3, it is not ours. I repeat, this E-3 is _not ours._ AWACS, permission to engage."

"AWACS here. We have determined that the Sentry closest to you is not an ISAF aircraft. I repeat, it is _not an ISAF aircraft_. It is being used to supplement the cloaking of the yellows. You are all cleared to engage the Sentry."

"I'm one step ahead of you!" Rapier 19 was the first to flank of the slow-moving plane, weighed slightly by the rotating dome on top of it. The young pilot was grazed by a barrage of bullets, but saw the silhouette of a plane in the sky the closer he got to the E-3.

"I don't like ghosts." He slammed the controls as he pulled his F-22 up in a dizzying waltz, smiling as his missiles nearly ripped the E-3 in half, revealing all five Yellow Squadron fighters, one of which was trailing smoke from Mobius 1's impact. The five SU-37s seemed to make the air shimmer as they appeared in various strategic points around the battlefield.

"No wonder it seemed like they were everywhere. AWACS, this is Rapier 14, we now have visuals on all five of the Yellows."

"Good. Sanitize the airspace; the larger formation appears to be moving away from your path. I suspect the enemy AWACS picked up our reinforcements."

Mobius 1 tried to see if he could recognize the flying style of any plane, but it was in vain. None of them appeared to be Yellows 5, 4, 22, or 13.

"These guys aren't so scary once you've figured out their magic trick!" Both Omega 8 and 11 gained hits on two more yellows, causing one to fly slightly on its side, and another to begin to break apart, falling towards the Erusean-occupied area.

"Well geez, there go our POWs, eh?" Mobius 1 joked as the remaining Yellows began to bug out. "They aren't nearly as tough as the top-yellows. I guess they didn't send their best.

Shakily, the five planes began to re-form their five-plane formation as the yellows rocketed away as fast as they had arrived. The sound of the turbojet finally disappeared as Mobius 1 began to maintain a straight and level flight over the clouds, in sight of the friendly reconnaissance aircraft below him, and in front of his four wingmen.

"Great work. Your performance has been valuable for our analysis back at base. Our research team has just acquired a new piece of information from a network of spies we have operating in northern Belka. The official documentation read now that we, South Belka, Yuktobania, and the ISAF, are forming together as the Axis alliance; east west and central. North Belka, West Erusea, and Osea are forming a centered alliance, a Central power."

"Where the hell is Yuktobania, by the way? Or North Belka, for that matter. So far we've been fighting this damn war ourselves." Mobius 1 complained.

"We should be seeing their efforts soon. In the meantime, we have confirmed the existence of an underground movement of ace pilots throughout Belka."

"South?" Omega 11 asked hopefully over the radio.

"South. The problem is, the aces don't appear to favor any one side."

"What do you mean?" Rapier 14 interjected.

"Let me finish. The pilots can't be identified, they could be any fifteen of a list of forty-five veteran Belkans that belong to neither Grabacr nor Ofnir. They operate in secret, as part of Belka. They supplied the Gray Men in the last war and have been known to instigate conflict to tip a victory in their favor through political dealings and their incredible fighting skills. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to identify a single one of them. They work as spies in various places around the world, making slight changes that have a great deal of influence. Be on the lookout for suspicious behavior, sabotages, etc. It is said that they have an agent at every major airbase."

The pilots were silent, reflecting on some previous sabotage that they had suspected.

"That's creepy as hell, when you look back on what's been happening. Is Belka just pulling strings again?" Mobius 1 asked the commander.

"Even if it is so, the alliance of South Belka is vital at this point. Our investigation must continue in secret. If you see anything out of the ordinary, such as enemy pilots that no longer exist, they may be members of the Belkan squadron in disguise. Do to the violent effects of their interference and their reported pilot skills, we have chosen to call them the 'Bloody Squadron'. Take note of this for all future reference."

The voice of SkyEye was silent, and Omega 8 coughed into his radio.

"Uhh . . . Do you think that explains Yellow 4 and 13?"

" . . . I guess. It's the only way . . . they can't be alive . . . "But on the inside, Mobius 1 knew that the piloting style was too unique. Only the real thing could pilot the way those two yellows had. He somehow felt that AWACS had done nothing but raise more questions.

* * *

**AN: I'm sorry this is taking so long, I've been extraordinarily busy. Anyhow, I pride this chapter not on length but progression. Feel free to say so if anything's fudged-up, I'll be trying to write this story as well as possible.**


	7. INTERLUDE Reflections

Interlude One

Reflections

**By Blue Dragon**

I remember the first time I killed somebody. Not just shot down, or incinerated, but _killed_. There's a difference.

An Air Force pilot faces a very unique dilemma because he can kill many more people than an infantry troop, but often faces less trauma. Sure, I get nightmares every once and a while from my bloody job, but for the most part, it's just planes—I don't see who I kill.

I remember a battle where I got the chance to.

It was an encampment near the Whiskey Corridor. The purpose was to wipe out the tank force and the enemy base. I remember it all. And my mind tries to block it out because I remember what I did.

The flak was all around me, the explosions rocked my plane back and forth, the anti-aircraft fire flew past me and made noises that I try not to remember. I was scared, it was war, I did what I was supposed to do. But watching it later . . . I can't stand to.

When I met the woman I began to date seriously, I could only think of how beautiful she was. How she sounded when she laughed, how she looked when she was nervous. When I did these things, I remembered how precious life was. It was as if an entire vat of filth was poured onto me when I realized that nearly every plane incinerated was a life lost—maybe two—but lives.

It was easy to separate myself from the harsh reality of it. When I destroyed a plane I almost never saw a body, oftentimes I would even see a parachute. When I destroyed a plane, there was just an orange flame falling, it was almost beautiful and disgusting at the same time. Watching the orange plume of fire and smoke spiral down in the sky, lighting it up if it was dark, would make me hunger for more battle. I actually liked it when I fought and killed.

And now I remember what I did at the Whiskey Corridor.

The romantic war veteran should be a battle-hardened, stiff, tough, hard-assed, never-give-a-damn kind of guy. No man can do what a veteran must do and be like that.

I remembered the unbearable heat that penetrated even my plane, the skies filled with the deadly and beautiful and transfixing explosions. It was sickening; the beauty that war could carry. In front of me, I saw a camped platoon of soldiers. There was a load of them—tons. Getting ready, no doubt, to deploy out over the field and give my comrades even more hell.

My war stories would fall on deaf ears. No one would listen. Only my comrades, that had actually experienced all that I had gone through, would lend me an ear. And they already knew the truth.

To say war is hell is to generalize, but even worse, it is to place something concrete in the abstract. War is one of the most concrete subjects there can be; ask any veteran.

War does not give preference to neatness. It doesn't keep men whole, there are no protected parts, there are no real rules, all of you is up for destruction. Every piece of your being is up for grabs.

I was scared, flying over the Whiskey Corridor, so I did what a textbook would have told me to do. I released my napalm all over the assembly under me. They were completely uncovered. I was the only plane within miles—they couldn't have anticipated me.

Confident that I had done my duty, I merely tilted my nose up and flew out of that hell-in-the-sky as fast as I could, the flak explosions growing further and further away.

The reconnaissance footage of my great kill was displayed.

People cheered me, slapped my back, and bought me beers. I was nominated for a medal.

"Airman Jones, already killin' legions of them! What a man among men! What a veteran! Just fried 'em all! Damn Eruseans didn't know what hit 'em! Haha!"

"Wow . . . you're a legend. You're a hero."

It makes me sick to think about those words when I privately watched the reconnaissance footage of what my napalm had done. I watched in terror as the 'liquid fire' rained down from the sky like God's own fiery tears, lancing down from the clouds and consuming them, igniting, burning them alive, bursting them open, destroying them from the outside and inside.

There was a collective scream as they were all consumed. I could almost see their faces from that video, and I had done it.

_I_ had done it.

I was being _hailed_ for this. For this, I receive _praise._ I was a _hero._

How many families lost husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons?

At least a hundred of them, consumed and killed in one of the most awful ways imaginable, and left to bake in the hot sun while I returned a "hero".

To say war is hell is to generalize. War is more to the fighters than a bunch of dots and lines on maps. People look at the maps and say 'If you went here and here, you would have won!'.

They don't see the terrain you have to fight through, the firefights you have to live through, the lives you have to end, the heat and cold and anger and pain you have to endure.

To say war is hell, to look at war from an analysts' perspective, all is to generalize and to make abstract.

I don't have a true first kill. The weight of my kills fell upon me when I watched that video. And I was able to have _truly_ killed them because I saw the pain and death I caused. I had shot down and undoubtedly killed many, but these videos showed me 'true' kills.

I can never continue fighting until I realize the importance of what I do, the value of the lives I take, and the importance of purpose. If I have to kill them, there must be a reason. I fight for a better world. Until that world comes, I will always be Mobius 1, and I will always watch in my head the lights that flashed as my napalm fell and the flashes of flame as the people were consumed.

Perhaps there was never a beginning or an end to this war—maybe my answers are only in the sky. Until I know for sure, I will have to keep killing and keep remembering and still be Mobius 1.

**AN: I feel I had to write this chapter to make the war seem more 'concrete' (ironically, because I think I've made it more abstract). I hope I can get back to story progression soon, but I hope you don't feel gypped. **


	8. Standoff in the Skies

**AN: That's right. I'm alive.**

* * *

Standoff in the Skies

**By Blue Dragon**

September 20, 2019/Los Canas Region/0852hrs

"MiG-31s! We can take 'em gang! They aren't Yellows!"

"More could be on the way, keep your guard up." Mobius 1 warned Omega 8 as the pilots began to sidewind out of formation to engage the oncoming fighters. It seemed to be a conventional fight.

At first.

"Hah! These things move slower than my _grandma_!" Omega 11 shot down one craft, the missile impacting after the two played an uncomfortably long game of chicken in the sky.

Rapier 19 leveled his craft onto the trail of another approaching MiG, and began shooting and firing missiles at the same time, dodging the stray pieces of the craft that flew back at him.

"AWACS, I got another kill!" Rapier 19 yelled excitedly as another MiG went spiraling towards the earth. Mobius 1 was not too thrilled.

"AWACS, this is Mobius 1. Are the aircraft moving a little . . . oddly to you?" He asked, hoping his fears would be dispelled.

"Mobius 1, this is SkyEye. Yes, it seems very odd indeed that they send just five fighters here while they have reinforcements. The aircraft are also fighting quite poorly, worse than our data says that they should. Stay on your guard."

"You worry too much, man." Omega 8 shot down the third aircraft after the two flew almost parallel to each other for a few seconds, before the faster pilot pulled back and emptied his ammunition into the other.

"_No_, I'm not. These mistakes are elementary. You'd think they were rookies up in the sky. No, worse than rookies, they're all making classic textbook mistakes. That one isn't even _trying_ to shake you, Rapier 14."

"Well he's going to regret it!" the Rapier pilot's thrilled shouts followed after the distant sound of two explosions, coming from the two other MiGs that were splashed. Both aircraft ignited into balls of orange flame and began to plummet towards the jungles below.

"Mobius 1, you should have gotten in on that!" Rapier 19 laughed as the group flew lazily around the canopy, making sure every plane crashed.

"AWACS, all enemy aircraft splashed. Mobius 1, is something bothering you?"

"Yes. All of those planes were intact but I didn't see a single parachute. The mistakes were dumb . . . too dumb. Why would they send people that were less than rookies out on a mission to try to attack the President's escorts?"

The pilot couldn't wrap his mind around it, and then everything clicked.

"Diversion! Those were unmanned aircraft! They're a diversion, stay on guard!"

As if on cue, AWACS began communications.

"Fighter squadron, this is SkyEye. We have detected a signal from above traveling 10 miles from your position at Mach 5. That gives us only a few seconds."

"To do _what!?_" Omega 11 panicked. How were they supposed to avoid this? They sky began to rumble ominously. It was like Stonehenge all over again. "Mach _5_? What the hell?"

"Gain altitude! Those dummies were trying to lure us lower to the ground from combat! Our original flight positions were much higher! _Gain altitude!_"

Without questioning his logic, the pilots immediately began to gun their afterburners towards the darkening sky above them. They couldn't imagine what was coming for them.

"Gain altitude, pilots! ETA in 5 seconds. 4 . . . . 3 . . . . 2 . . . impact . . . " The sky darkened as what appeared to be a meteor from the sky hurled down far away from the pilots, sending fear through them as they rocketed their F-22s miles and miles into the air. The weapon filled the darkened sky with nothing but a streak of ominous red that left its afterimage across the sky.

"NOW!" The meteor landed in the jungle, sending shockwaves throughout that immediately incinerated many square miles of jungle.

Then the panic started.

As if powered by the devil himself, a fiery wave of energy began to fill the sky over where the blast had shaken to jungle, and consume every living thing above it. The fiery wave was headed straight for the ace pilots, but if Mobius 1 knew one thing, it was this: He was not going to die there. Whether it was his skill and determination, or his destiny whispering in his ear, it was the one thing he was sure of.

"Omega 8, hit the afterburners! Omega 8!" Rapier 19 screamed out to his wingman, but it was too late. The flames consumed the back of his aircraft, and with a strange creaking sound that filled the sky, it caught fire and began to plummet to the ground.

"Bail out!" Omega 11 yelled at his comrade, his speech gargled over the damaged radio. "Bail the hell out! NOW!" But no one saw if he made it or not, because Omega 11 soon met the same fate, followed by Rapier 14, spewing unnaturally red flames and spiraling out of control.

"Martin! Martin! Buddy, you still alive?" Mobius 1 flew higher than the others, looking down towards the ground as gravity pulled mercilessly at his neck.

"Mobius! Help--" Rapier 19 began to fall as well, but immediately recovered. The blast of heat had stopped, and as if rehearsed, the two aircraft immediately straightened out."

"This is AWACS. We will be sending a rescue team--"

"Screw that, sir. Rapier 19 and I are going down. Our flight just went down behind enemy lines. Send reinforcements for our president."

And though they had no place to land and were in enemy territory, the two pilots swept downwards to search for their fallen comrades.

* * *

September 20, 2019/Sand Island AFB/0942hrs

Ced peered over Nagase's shoulder, thinking that he might see somebody watching him. When he found nothing, he looked back at Nagase, and then the line that had only gotten longer.

"Is everything alright?" She asked him, looking concerned at the sudden flash of interest that had began to gleam in his eyes.

" . . . Yeah, everything's fine." He looked down at the table, quite sure that more than one thing was _not_ fine. "You know, maybe we should come back here later? It doesn't seem like we'll get anything to eat anytime soon, and we probably want to do more research on the ISAF if we're going to be facing them.

She began to look even more concerned.

"You're not still worried about Mobius 1, are you?" She asked, knowing the answer to her question even as she did. "No one has ever been able to stop us before when we flew together, and now we actually have our military supporting us. I think we'll be fine."

He sighed.

"What about the fact that we've gotten sucked into another war? Doesn't it bother you that we have to fight the Yukes all over again? This time they're saying that their presidential escorts couldn't get clearance to fly over any Erusean airspace, as if they were trying to stop them from getting together with the ISAF. I don't even know who to believe."

Nagase looked very thoughtful, and then released a breath that caused her hair to move slightly.

"I think that there's always a lot more to a war than both sides are willing to let on, and even now I'm sure that there's something very strange happening." She rested her hands on his and he looked up. "But I think that we can get through it. We've struck, defended, and been in more dogfights than I can count. Mobius 1, I'm sure he's good, but he's just one pilot. And you've never been one to back off of a standoff." She squeezed his hand.

"You've always been the only one to know what to say to me. I--" He was soon cut off.

"Wardog! Er . . . I mean Razgriz! Please report to the briefing room ASAP! An update has been processed that explicitly requested your presence. And if there is a pilot by the call sign of 'Knight Air' on base, please report to the briefing room immediately. That is all."

"Knight Air . . . wasn't he the one in the red plane?" Nagase asked, more to herself than anyone as both of them stood up and headed towards the briefing room. Ced was thankful for the opportunity to stop thinking about the woman across from him.

"Knight Air . . . do you think he's the spy?" He asked her without looking at her as they briskly moved down the newly lit corridors.

"No, it seems odd that he'd participate in a fight against his own allies, too risky . . . and I saw him chase down a few other aircraft. He seemed pretty serious about helping us, but I've never heard his call sign before."

Grimm walked from around the corner and joined the two.

"What do you think we're in for? The last time we were called to this office we had a gun pointed in our face!" He swallowed nervously, and the others couldn't help but recall this fact as well.

When the three finally entered the room, they were met with Westary, another officer, and a well-built looking guy with a day-old beard.

"I take it you're call sign 'Knight Air'?" Nagase asked as she took her place in front of the two officers.

"Just call me Lenny . . . . for the time being."

"What?"

"That's enough!" Westary barked. "We have reports of a group that calls themselves the Blue Squadron and we need facts. You all are the most skilled and experienced pilots here, and we've decided that it would be wise to get our information from you. Lenny here came from the Oured G.H.Q. and will be assisting us in training the nuggets."

Ced responded immediately.

"I've never heard of the Blue Squadron in my life. We--" Before he could finish speaking, the radio on the officer's desk began to crackle.

"Sand Island? This is the Free Erusean Naval Commandant Jose Marquis. Our weapon was successful. We have three splashed bandits from the Presidential escort squadron and two circling the area. We will have our people there shortly but would be honored if the Razgriz would try to finish off the reinforcements over Los Canas."

" . . . What bandits are you talking about?" Westary responded.

"Omega 8 and 11, Rapier 14 and 19 . . . "

There should be one more . . . Ced thought to himself. He could feel it.

"The only one hat wasn't damaged. Call sign Mobius 1."

Westary's eyebrows raised.

"Hmm. Blaze here and Mobius? What a standoff that would be! We'll deploy them overseas tonight."

* * *

September 20, 2019/Free Erusea Airspace/1553hrs

"Mobius 1, the famous ace pilot?" Jack asked, for some reason in doubt that he could be searching for the same person.

"Yes, I wanted to interview him." She shifted so that she could face him more comfortably. "You see, I feel that none of the ace pilots from the war were ever really properly thanked or interviewed afterwards, and I wanted to let them know somehow that there were people that cared and were interested.

"Hmm . . . " Why hadn't he thought of that? This entire time he hadn't even decided what he would do when he actually met the pilot that had saved his town. Now that he was faced with it, it would probably be a good idea to figure out what to ask him. "I lived in San Salvacion, too. My family was killed by the shell of a plane from a dogfight. It was Mobius 1 that eventually shot the perpetrator down."

Suddenly, a look of realization dawned on her face, as if something important had been revealed to her that she had hidden before. She looked up as if ready to speak, and then stopped before starting again.

"Jack . . . "

"Yes?"

" . . . "

"Wait, how did you know my name?" He was suddenly very intrigued. There was something about this girl that seemed familiar, something that he couldn't quite place his finger on. But as he stared into her dark brown eyes, he couldn't help but feel that he was forgetting something important.

"Jack Bryant. Wow. It's been a really long time. I didn't know you were still alive." Tears began to fall down her face, even though it kept the same somber expression.

"God, what's wrong, did I upset you?" He asked, suddenly concerned. What was the matter? Had he said something to make her upset?

_No. _ He thought to himself. _I've forgotten something, but what?_

He didn't get a chance to answer, because McCarty began talking over the intercom.

"Flight! We've detected a hostile bogey at our five o' clock!"

Swearing loudly, a military official began rushing to the cabin, no doubt wanting to initiate communications. Jack and the woman shifted back the their original positions. The entire cabin crackled with a distressed air, and it fell completely silent before the voice of the military officer rang over the radio, which had been channeled to the cabin so that everyone could hear.

"Unidentified craft, we are a commercial flight on our way to another airport. We have no wish to fight."

"Commercial flight! Pilots and engineers. I know your goal! You're probably attempting to return to Comona AB to repair the facilities. Unfortunately, I can't let you do that. My F-16 and I know better than to let the enemy gain access to valuable intel and workforces like what I'm sure this plane is carrying. I'm afraid I'm going to have to shoot you down."

"How the hell did this guy penetrate that far into our airspace!? Our AD systems must be wet paper bags! Screw this stupid war." An aggravated Lieutenant Colonel smashed the seat next to him, clearly distressed that there was nothing that he could do at the moment.

"Hold on!" A new voice cracked over the radio, and everyone on the flight could hear the sound of jet engines. Jack, prepared for the worst and feeling helpless, stared out of the window. It was a TND-ID5, zooming, sidewinding, and flipping through the skies like an ace pilot.

_Wonderful_, he thought, _It's going to shoot us down . . . but the hostile said he was in an F-16. That must mean . . . _

"Hostile aircraft, stand down. Did you seriously that they were going to fly without an escort? This is Mobius 8. Stand down or I will be forced to engage you. Reinforcements from the Mobius Squadron are already on the way. Land at the nearest airfield and you will not be harmed."

For a hopeful second, Jack believed that Mobius 1 would come as well. Of course, he realized that if Mobius 1 was anywhere around they would have used him to escort the plane to begin with.

"Mobius 8, hmm? Of the famous Mobius Squadron. How are you doing, Rin? I'm afraid I can't stand down, no matter how many aircraft you send."

Both of the other pilots swore loudly, and mothers began covering the ears of their children as the cabin began to erupt into nervous chatter.

"Yes, yes, you all may know me as a representative from what you call the 'Bloody Squadron'. I hope you know now to stand down and your casualties will be minimal. I repeat, stand down or I will shoot you down as well as the commercial craft. I am Blue 66."

* * *

**AN: The ultimate goal is that people start getting connected. What do you all think? Too short? Not enough plot movement?**


End file.
